She Walks in Power

by Tyndall, MaryLu

  “Obey me at once. I am Lady Alexia D’Clere, daughter of Baron Richard D’Clere.”

  Still nothing but a cough.

  LeGode chuckled. “As you can see, they answer to me now.” He raised his voice. “This woman is a witch. Take her to the tower!”

  Chapter 30

  Bare-footed and dressed in naught but a thin chemise, Alexia paced the tiny chamber at the top of the keep. Five steps across, five back. Darkness forbade her from seeing the walls that imprisoned her in a circle of stone, but she didn’t need the light. She knew every inch of this prison—this tomb she’d been cast into over a day ago. Taking another step, she bit her lip at the pain radiating through her feet, scraped raw from the icy hard stone.

  Far above, through a single narrow window, she had watched the sun rise and span the sky, shifting a beam of light slowly across the chamber walls until it finally moved up and disappeared out the window again, marking the end of another day.

  Fighting back tears, she hugged herself and began tracing the walls with her shoulder, round and round, feeling as though she were going mad. Mad with grief and guilt and terror.

  The Spear was gone.

  The maids who had stripped her of her attire had easily found it sewn into her chemise. No amount of pleading, commanding, or begging had convinced them to side with her against LeGode—so strong was the terror he inflicted. And now, she had not only failed to protect the Spear, but she no longer had its power to help her escape, to help her sister.

  To help anyone.

  Finally surrendering to her tears, she leaned against the rough wall and slid down to the floor. “I’m sorry, Father. I’ve made a muck of things. I’ve failed You.”

  She’d failed the friar and Ronar as well. They’d both been right. She’d followed her emotions, allowed her fear to keep her from hearing the will of God and from trusting that will. Otherwise, she would have sensed the trap that had been so craftily laid for her, would have known the evil that awaited her arrival.

  “Foolish, foolish girl!” She dropped her head in her hands. “Why do I never listen?”

  Footsteps echoed in the corridor. Alexia quickly dried her eyes as a strip of light appeared beneath the door. Pushing against the stone, she struggled to rise as the lock clanked and the door creaked open. A torch swept into the room, carried by a guard and followed by a shadow of a man behind it. Alexia blinked at the brightness.

  “Remain there and close the door.”

  She recognized LeGode’s voice ere he materialized before her as her eyes grew accustomed to the light.

  “Well, look at the imperious Falcon of Emerald Forest now.” He jeered. “Not so formidable without your bow and arrow.” He laid a finger on his pointy chin and eyed her up and down. “Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d assume you were naught but a serving wench.”

  “And you naught but an agent of hell,” she spat and took a step toward him.

  He smiled. “From the mouth of babes.”

  “What have you done to my sister? Do you intend to kill her?”

  A malevolent gleam flashed in his dark eyes. “Do you take me for a monster? Nay, my son Cedric will marry your sister and inherit Luxley. If she behaves herself, I may even allow her to live. If not, well, all I foresee in her future is grave illness, I’m afraid.”

  She rushed him, her every intent to strangle that smile from his face. But before she could reach him, the guard leveled the tip of his spear at her chest.

  She halted. “My sister will never marry that mewling bore.”

  The corner of his lip twitched. “We shall see.”

  She studied him as he fingered the ruby brooch at his neck. “What happened to you, Sir? What happened to make a man want to murder a child of only nine?”

  He glanced over the chamber and sighed. “I couldn’t very well have you and your sister divide the estate, could I? Not when I deserved it all. Hence, I got rid of the strong one. Or so I thought.” He scowled at her. “Who could have known you would become the pesky Falcon?”

  “All of this evil, all of this pain, just so you could inherit my estate. Is it that important to you? Is it worth betraying the friendship of my parents?”

  “’Tis the way of the world. A man is measured by his status and holdings. Mine are poor through no fault of my own, save my birth and the king’s greed. Why should my son, why should I suffer the disrespect of others while you and your sister inherit a barony? Bah! Two addle-brained women who have done naught to deserve it.”

  Alexia huffed. “And yet this addle-brained woman has evaded you for nine years.”

  He studied her then, his jaw shifting.

  “Have you no fear of God?” she asked.

  “There are other powers besides the Almighty’s. Stronger powers. Ones that reward a man in this life and don’t make him wait and hope for a promise that may never come in the next.”

  Alexia drew a deep breath and shoved aside her fear and anger as she sought the light and truth within. Shadows, bending and twisting, slithered around LeGode, their tiny yellow eyes flaming, their mouths elongated with silent screams. Chains formed around the man himself, starting at his shoes, winding up his legs, his belly, chest and then wrapping around his neck—thick, heavy chains that clanked with each step as he approached her.

  “You are bound in darkness, Sir. You walk about in chains. But that does not have to be the end of things. You can be free.”

  “Begad, chains! I’ve never felt more free!” He laughed. “Free to finally receive my just reward.”

  The shadows slinking about him glared her way with eyes burning with such hate, she nearly fell backward. A spindly hand emerged from the darkness, a black craggy wisp that reached for her throat. For a moment—a brief moment—she thought it would strangle her, but then it disappeared with a puff and a growl as if it had met an invisible barrier. “’Twas you who sent those devilish wolves,” she said.

  He smiled. “Let us just say I have access to dark powers that would put your God to shame. Especially since you no longer possess the Spear.” Reaching into his pocket, he held it up.

  Golden light radiated from within the holy relic, causing it to shine even brighter than the torch. Her heart sank at the sight of it in the grasp of such evil, and she lunged to take it from him. But he leapt out of her reach as the tip of the guard’s spear shoved her back.

  “That does not belong to you, LeGode. It has naught to do with your greedy plans.”

  “Aye, but it does. If ’tis as powerful as they say, it will aid me greatly. If not, I will give it to the bishop, and he and his ill-bred knights can leave. Ah,”—his bushy brows rose above sadistic eyes—“save one, I would guess. Your lover who helped you escape. What spell did you cast on him to make him sacrifice so much, witch?”

  “Love requires no spell. And I am no witch, as you well know.”

  “Yet Bishop Montruse has pronounced you as such.”

  “Without a trial?”

  “He has no need to be sullied by your wicked presence when the evidence speaks for itself.” LeGode dropped the Spear back into his pocket.

  “Sir LePeine had naught to do with my escape. In truth, I have no knowledge of his whereabouts.”

  “Humph. I doubt that. If he attempts to rescue his lady love, he’ll be hanged for treason. If not, then I suppose love will not win, after all.”

  “Regardless of what Sir LePeine does or doesn’t do, love always wins in the end, LeGode.”

  With a snort, he turned to leave.

  “What is to become of me?”

  “Oh, my manners. I nearly forgot.” He smiled in her direction. “Tomorrow at noon, you will be burned at the stake.”

  ♥♥♥

  LeGode bounded down the winding stairs of the keep, his tunic flowing, and his mind and heart humming. Things were looking up, indeed, and his plans would soon come to fruition. Alexia would be dead, the bishop and his lackeys would depart, Cristiana would marry Cedric…

  And
the barony would be LeGode’s.

  Female laughter grated over his ears, an omen of disaster even before he found its source.

  ’Twas Cristiana D’Clere! Dressed in a lavish crimson tunic with a wreath of flowers on her head, her cheeks rosy, and her brown eyes sparkling, she sat beside that muckrake Jarin in the great hall.

  How could that be? LeGode couldn’t help but stare at them as he passed, his anger growing with each step. The knight held her hand and leaned close to say something to the lady, to which she responded with a nod and a smile. And such a smile! One reserved for the object of her heart. One LeGode longed to see her grace upon his son. Where was Cedric anyway?

  And why wasn’t Cristiana abed? After what he had ordered put in her food, she should not be able to hold up her head, let alone sit and play the coquette with that dastardly knight.

  Both glanced his way. The knight’s eyes narrowed, and the lady quickly averted her gaze.

  Such disrespect! Such dishonor! Fury boiling, he took the corridor to the left and halted before the library where he knew he’d find the bishop either sleeping, reading, eating, or having his way with one of the serving wenches. The man had taken over the chamber next to LeGode’s study on the pretense of needing to read the Scriptures in privacy.

  Privacy, Bah! A place for his wenching and sleeping was more like it.

  LeGode knew he shouldn’t disturb him without being summoned, but he must get rid of Jarin the Just immediately. And he finally had the means to do exactly that.

  After several knocks, an aggravated voice bade him entrance, and LeGode pushed the door open to a young maid scurrying out and the bishop adjusting his vestment. “What is it now, Sir?”

  Disgust soured LeGode’s belly at this man who dared present himself as holy. Merely more evidence of the weakness of the God he served. Biting back an insult, LeGode entered, reminding himself that this man had the king’s ear and the power to destroy him if he so desired.

  He fingered the Spear in his pocket. Oddly, he thought it would be bigger, sharper, or at least cleaner for something that held such power. But it appeared more something to be tossed out as refuse than a relic that could defeat armies.

  Still, it would more than prove its usefulness if it could put this buffoon to flight.

  “What do you want, Sir? You stand there staring at me as if you haven’t a thought in your head.”

  “I came to…I came to…”

  With a growl that would wake the dead, the bishop sank back into a chair, gave a tight smile, and folded hands over his belly. “Out with it, LeGode, or I shall have you arrested for driving a man of God to sheer madness.”

  LeGode swallowed, wrapped his hand around the Spear still in his pocket, then whispered. “I command you to be gone.”

  But instead of disappearing or fainting away dead, the bishop’s face grew mottled with red. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.” LeGode pulled out the Spear. “I have a gift.” Useless piece of metal. He’d be happy to be rid of it if it would also rid him of this hypocritical weasel.

  The bishop’s eyes flew open. His bottom lip began to quiver as he slowly pushed himself up and approached LeGode with the first display of reverence he had witnessed in the man.

  “Where? How?” He snagged it from LeGode’s hand as if he weren’t worthy to hold it.

  “’Twas on the witch when we searched her.”

  Bishop Montruse stared at the relic for what seemed like an eternity, his eyes blinking, his mouth opening and closing with unuttered words, his fingers gently caressing it as if it held the secret to life itself.

  “I have upheld my part of our bargain, your Excellency.”

  “So you have, LeGode.” The bishop’s eyes never left the spear. “God’s truth, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “And now you will convince the king to order my son and Lady D’Clere wed.”

  “Yes, yes, as you wish.” The bishop waved one hand through the air.

  LeGode pressed his luck. “And you and the King’s Guard will depart Luxley forthwith.”

  “Of course. I am most anxious to present this to the king.” Finally, he lifted his gaze to LeGode. “The witch had this? How did it not burn her skin?”

  Because ’tis just a piece of metal, you lout. LeGode shrugged. “It matters not. We will burn her skin on the morrow.”

  “As she deserves.” Still holding the Spear, the bishop moved to the window where a breeze brought in the scent of plowed earth and lavender from the fields. “It must be done in the village for all to see.”

  LeGode grimaced. “But, your Grace, I have discovered she is the Falcon of Emerald Forest, the woman who brought the villagers food. To avoid trouble, I recommend the courtyard.”

  “The Falcon you say? Humph. More reason to burn her as a lesson for all to see.”

  “I fear the people may riot.”

  “Riot! Ludicrous. They are peasants who cannot think for themselves. Nay. ’Tis best we use this witch as an example that we do not tolerate treason against the crown. Nor treason against God.”

  “I will order extra guards,” LeGode offered just as the bishop’s page entered with a tray of mead and cheese.

  All too happy to leave this man’s presence, LeGode smiled as he shut the door behind him.

  Later that night, Bishop Montruse made no call for female company. Nor did he attend the evening repast, but instead ordered wine and boiled venison be brought to his chamber. When he had finished eating, he commanded his page to stoke the fire and help him disrobe, but then dismissed him so that he could study the Spear.

  He could hardly believe it. The Spear that stabbed His Lord Christ! Right here in his very hands.

  He always knew he was meant for greatness. Nay, he was no ordinary bishop. Not only had he attained the highest post possible for a man of his position—adviser to the king—but now that he had the Spear in his possession, he would be unstoppable. Soon he would become archbishop, and then God willing, mayhap even the next Pope.

  With these dreams in his heart and a smile on his lips, Bishop Montruse set the Spear on the table beside his bed and fell fast asleep.

  Sometime during the night, the Spear began to glow. A halo of light circled it, growing brighter and brighter until it lit the entire room as if the sun itself were rising in the chamber. A being of equal light gently lifted it from its place and carried it through the closed door.

  Darkness surrounded the bishop again.

  Chapter 31

  Keeping to the shadows, Ronar slipped past the gatehouse and across the smaller courtyard of Luxley castle. The sentry hadn’t questioned him when he’d hailed him from the tower above. He merely nodded his recognition and opened the gate. Either Ronar was walking into a trap, or word of his collusion with a witch had not reached the lower ranks of the guard assigned night duty.

  Or mayhap they simply did not expect him to saunter through the front gate at two in the morning.

  Now, if he could make it to the women’s quarters and from thence into the tunnels, mayhap one of those secret passages would lead him close to the chamber he shared with Jarin and Damien.

  The wind slapped dirt in his face, increasing his angst. When he’d woken at dawn to find Alexia had tricked him—yet again—a plethora of emotions twisted his gut—anger and frustration chief among them, along with the pain of betrayal. A pain he knew all too well. He had allowed himself to fall asleep because, deep down, he had trusted her to remain with him no matter how distraught she was at his decision. She had declared her love, and he thought that meant all lies and tricks were at an end. Fool! When would he learn? Now he had no choice but to go after her and pray she’d not already been caught.

  He found the maids’ quarters easily enough. Thank God the few women who tended the castle were fast asleep as he slipped inside, shoved aside the large wardrobe, and found entrance to the tunnels. He had no light to guide his way, but felt along the craggy stone, first right then left and the
n right again, up and up until his breath came hard and a chill shimmied down the sweat on his back. Finally, a tiny flicker of light appeared, and the stone transformed to wood. He pushed and entered a dark chamber.

  Moonlight from the window made ghosts of white sheets draped over furniture and spun cobwebs into shimmering threads. An ominous weight of loss and sorrow made the air hard to breath. The master solar—Alexia’s parents’ bedchamber. Left untouched after her mother died, no doubt.

  Passing quickly through the morbid place, he moved into the corridor, lit by sconced candles nearly depleted. He took a moment to determine where he was, then crept down the stairs—two flights and he found the familiar door to the chamber he’d shared with Damien and Jarin.

  When he opened it and stepped inside, ’twas to a blade at his throat.

  “State your business ere I slice you open.”

  Ronar smiled. “’Tis me, Damien.”

  The knife withdrew and a strong arm ushered him inside and quietly shut the door.

  Flint struck steel, and the flame of a candle revealed his two friends wearing only linen breeches, faces puffy with sleep, and blades in hand.

  “Ronar, what are you doing here?” Jarin rubbed his eyes.

  “I should have known I couldn’t sneak in on you two.” Ronar gripped them both by the forearm.

  “’Tis good to see you well.” Jarin returned his greeting with a firm clasp.

  Damien set down his knife. “LeGode and Bishop Montruse are searching for you. To arrest you for treason against the crown.”

  A ray of silver moonlight entered through the window, and Ronar moved to look outside. “’Tis LeGode who has committed treason by attempting to murder Alexia and poisoning her sister.” The courtyard was empty. Good. His presence had not been noticed. “Have you seen Alexia…Lady Falcon? Has she arrived?”

  “Aye,” Jarin replied, and when he hesitated, Ronar faced him. “What is it?”

  Damien lowered to a chair. “They caught her in the courtyard and locked her in the tower.”