He scowled. “Indeed. And He has ordered your death and sentenced you to hell.”
“Has He? Then when you arrive yourself and don’t find me there, you shall know the truth.”
The sting of his slap radiated across her cheek ere she saw it coming. She welcomed the pain, and only lifted her chin higher, meeting his cold eyes staunchly.
With a flap of his robes, he raged from the room.
Within the hour, two kitchen maids came to search her, apologizing profusely, and offering her looks of pity as they removed her chemise and scanned her naked body like no one ever had. Enduring the shame, she remembered that Jesus had also been stripped naked during His hour of trial, and she suddenly felt comfort in the association.
After they left and Alexia was once again clothed, the guards returned, clasped her arms, and dragged her from the cell down the winding staircase, through the great hall, and across the courtyard. Squires, pages, and servants stopped to stare at her with horror. A few crossed themselves. As best she could, Alexia gave them looks of comfort and assurance as the guards led her through the front gate, across the bridge, and toward the village. So, she was to be burned as a spectacle to all. No matter. So had her Lord been. With His strength, she would endure it.
Down the muddy street and into the village square, the guards shoved her, finally halting before her death pyre—a stack of wood that reached her waist surrounding a thick pole. Her heart began to thump uncontrollably, aided by the shouts of the villagers she loved. Some reached for her, others stood sobbing—Gwendolyn, the widow, Forwin, the spicemonger, Gerald, the leather worker, among them. And of course, Wimarc, the butcher and his wife.
“We love you, Falcon!
“God be with you, Falcon.”
“Go with God, dear one.”
She smiled, hoping to reassure them all was well.
But once they led her up makeshift stairs to the top of the woodpile, shoved her against the post, and tied her hands behind her, terror strangled her.
Lord, be with me, she whispered into the wind then gazed over the crowd that grew more and more agitated, growling and screaming and shouting until naught else could be heard. At the front, stood Sir LeGode, the ruby brooch at his neck glittering in the sun, a gloating look on his snarling lips. The bishop languished by his side, his page holding a canopy over him to protect him from the heat. And to his right stood Sir Jarin the Just and Sir Damien LaRage. Both knights bore stoic expressions, yet a twitch on Jarin’s face and the anger in Damien’s eyes spoke of raging emotions within. Behind them, rows of knights kept the crowd at bay with pikes and spears.
More shouts filled the air—prayers and blessings from the villagers followed by curses aimed at Sir LeGode and the guards. At least thirty additional knights stood around the perimeter of the square.
All this for little ol’ her? She wanted to laugh but found her insides clenched so tight, she had trouble breathing.
Suddenly, without warning, Alexia thought of Ronar. And a sorrow she’d never known sliced through her heart. She loved him. And she would never see him again in this life. Not only that, but she had done the worst possible thing anyone could do to him—she had betrayed him. Just as his friend had done. She found her voice as she gazed up into a clear blue sky. “Father, please help him forgive me. Help him to love again. Help him to realize You have already paid the price for his sins. Open his eyes to see how near You are to him.”
“She calls to the devil!” the bishop shouted. “Burn her at once!”
The crowd went mad.
A guard approached, torch in hand. Without looking up at her, he dipped the flame to the pile of wood at her feet.
♥♥♥
Ronar LePeine, Knight of the Elite King’s Guard, crusader, and friend of the king, crouched beneath the window in one of the upper rooms of the Hornbuckle Inn. ’Twas the closest second story window to the market square where Alexia was to be burned. And the only one which faced her back.
Agony wrapped around his heart at the thought he might lose her, of the torturous death she faced. But he wouldn’t allow his fear entrance. He couldn’t. He had no time for fear or sorrow. And he especially had no time for mistakes.
He glanced over the raging mob. In the distance, two guards dragged Alexia atop a pile of wood, shoved her against a post, and bound her hands behind her. Sir LeGode, the bishop, and their knights formed an impenetrable wall around her, preventing the clamoring throng from rushing to her rescue. Shouts and curses filled the air as some of the villagers attempted to shove forward, but the knights forced them back with sharpened pikes.
Jarin and Damien stood beside the bishop, rigid and unmoving, though from this distance Ronar could not make out their expressions.
Distance. Aye, at least forty yards. An impossible shot. Especially for him. But ’twas the only plan that had a modicum of a chance.
His heart pummeled his ribs, his mind found no focus, sweat slid down his back. What was wrong with him? He was a trained warrior, an elite knight.
Yet… if he failed….
If he failed—he swallowed—he’d have to watch the woman he loved burn to death. Tortured at the hands of evil men. Aye, the bishop was evil. There was no other explanation. Which meant he was not appointed by God. Which meant not all men of the cloth were appointed by God, and not everything the Church said was from God.
Which also meant the penance Ronar tried so hard to achieve might all be for naught.
The friar’s words were the only thing shouting in his mind that made sense. “Follow God alone, and you’ll see He has already forgiven you.”
Drawing an arrow from the quiver leaning against the wall, he positioned it, drew back the bowstring, and found his target—the ropes that bound Alexia’s hands. Strung tight around both wrists, the bonds left less than an inch between her palms. Still, they blurred in his vision even as her hands melded with the pole. How could he shoot the ropes at this distance without slicing her hands? Give me a shot, Father.
Laughter cracked the air around him, vile laughter. Heard but not heard.
You’ll never make that shot, Knight! Who do you think you are?
Ronar dared a glance behind him. No one was there. Just the cot, chest of drawers, side table and lantern that made up the small room. Then why did he feel like snakes were crawling up his skin? A shadow sprang from the corner then flitted across the chamber and disappeared. Had the wolves returned? Pulse pounding, he shook away the vision and reached in his pocket for Saint Jude. Surely, he would protect Ronar. Mayhap even help him make the shot. But the more he studied the statue, the more he realized ’twas just made of stone—a lifeless idol that possessed no power.
He tossed it into the corner. Besides, Ronar was no longer a hopeless cause.
Movement brought his gaze back out the window. One of the guards was lighting the wood.
Panic stung every nerve. He pulled back the string once again and took aim.
Go ahead. Shoot. You’ll miss and kill her. Even her God cannot save her now.
A heaviness pressed on his shoulders, leeching away his hope… his faith.
Flames began to leap over the wood. The crowd stirred into a frenzy of screams and wailing.
“Nay!” Ronar shouted and quickly bowed his head.
“God, if You are here. I need You. I cannot make this shot, so You must. Please save Alexia.”
The weight lifted, the air cleared, and Ronar took a deep breath. He sensed another presence in the room, a powerful one, a glorious one.
He drew back the bow, closed his eyes, uttered the name Jesus, and released the arrow.
♥♥♥
Alexia’s mind went numb. Flames reached for her feet. Unbearable heat swamped her, rising in waves that warped her view—twisting LeGode and the bishop into slithering demons and the crowd into a mass of writhing snakes. She could no longer hear anything but the hiss and crackle of the fire that would soon melt the skin from her body.
“Oh,
Lord Jesus, help me.” She bowed her head as the fire licked her feet and the pain began, searing, excruciating pain! “Take me quickly.”
Her hands fell to her sides.
What? She stared at them, unbound, free, dripping with blood, and then looked up to the blue sky, waiting for an angel to swoop down and take her home.
But instead, commotion brought her gaze back to the crowd. Guards dropped to the ground, arrows piercing their legs and arms. A dozen knights surrounded LeGode and the bishop and whisked them away. More guards fell. Others drew swords and dashed across the square.
The fire burned her toes. Pain! Pain! Such pain! “Jesus, help! Hel”—air. There was no more air to breath. She gasped for one last breath, when to her right, the oddest sight appeared. Blankets, clothing, and quilts flew through the air and landed on the flames. Smoke curled upward. Sir Jarin and Damien scrambled atop, their movements awkward and…slow…so slow…as if the entire scene was happening in an endless nightmare. That must be it. The pain had sent her mind into a dream.
Rough hands grabbed her, tugged her down over the smoking cloth. Hot hot hot! Her feet landed in cool mud.
Nothing had ever felt so good. She coughed up smoke.
Hoisting her over his shoulder, Damien bolted down the street. Jarin right behind. The people of the village surrounded them. Cries of joy filled her ears. Hands reached for her.
Coughing, she sucked in more air.
Knights rushed toward them. An arrow struck one in the thigh. Jarin drew his sword and engaged two more.
“Get her to safety!” he shouted over his shoulder.
Picking up rocks and whatever they could find, the villagers tossed them at the oncoming guards. Still Damien ran. His boots slapped the soggy dirt. Mud splattered on her face as her head pounded against his back.
Alexia heard horses neigh and bridles jangle, felt herself hoisted atop a charger. The stable master handed Damien the reins and smiled at Alexia. Leaping behind her, Damien wrapped one arm around her waist, then nudged his horse out the gate.
They galloped across the field. Wind whipped her hair as young bean stalks whizzed past and the mayhem behind them faded into a distant clamor.
Only when they reached the cool woodland and her lungs filled with the familiar scent of oakmoss and cedar, did Alexia truly believe she’d been rescued.
Damien slowed his horse and glanced toward the castle. No one followed. At least not yet.
He slid from his charger and glanced up at her. “Are you hurt, my lady?”
She stared at this man who was all steel and roughness with eyes as hard as the chain mail he wore. “My feet pain me, but otherwise nay. Thank you.” She hated the tremble in her voice and attempted to settle her nerves. “Where is Ronar? Is he—”
Before she could finish her sentence, the pounding of horses drew her gaze to two riders racing toward them, clods of mud flinging off their mounts’ hooves. Damien started to draw his sword but released it as the two came closer.
Ronar. She’d know him anywhere, the commanding way he rode his charger, his brown hair flying in the wind, and finally when his face came into view, the smile meant only for her. Jarin rode by his side.
Before his horse came to a stop, Ronar slid off, took her by the waist, and drew her down into an embrace that was filled with laughter and tears and more love than she’d ever felt. He kissed her forehead then cupped her chin and gazed at her. “I feared I’d lost you.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I can’t believe you came for me. Surely, I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
Damien chuckled. “I doubt you’d find any of us there, my lady.”
Ronar drew her close again, and she allowed herself a moment to feel safe in his strong embrace, to breathe in the scent of him, to pray this wasn’t a dream.
“We need to go,” Damien urged.
“Aye.” Ronar nudged her back.
Alexia winced at the pain that only now returned amid the excitement.
Frowning, he lifted her atop Penance and examined her feet. “Forgive me, Alexia, I should have known. These burns will need tending. And these.” He examined her hands. Bloody gashes sliced across both her wrists. In all the mayhem, she hadn’t felt a thing.
“Excellent shooting, my friend,” Jarin said.
Alexia stared at Ronar. “You. ’Twas you who shot my bonds?”
“I had an excellent teacher.” He winked at her, then glanced at his friends. “And much help afterward.”
“We assumed you’d try something.” Damien’s charger pawed the ground, no doubt sensing his master’s anxiety. “We merely didn’t know what or when.”
Alexia’s mind still spun with the shock of the day, for nothing made sense. “Where were you?”
“In a window at the Hornbuckle Inn.”
“That’s forty yards from….”
He smiled and leapt atop Penance behind her. “And I even closed my eyes.”
What? Did that mean…? She hadn’t the clarity of mind to consider it. “But now, you will be counted a traitor like me.” She glanced at Jarin and Damien. “All of you will.”
Jarin’s horse snorted. “We may yet be able to convince the king that our cause is worthy.”
Ronar wrapped his arms around her and took the reins.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” she whispered.
“It matters naught now.”
Horses’ thundering and shouts alerted them to a band of Luxley knights headed their way.
Alexia stiffened. “We can hide in the forest. I know many places.”
“Nay.” Damien stared at the advancing knights. “We should explain to the king what happened ere the bishop dispatches a messenger.”
“I agree,” Ronar said.
Alexia laid a hand on Ronar’s arm holding the reins. “But what of my sister? I cannot leave her.”
“If we go back, we will all be arrested.”
“I do not wish to leave her either,” Jarin said, drawing her gaze, and she saw sincerity in the handsome knight’s eyes. “But we are of no use to her dead.”
“You have my troth, Alexia.” Ronar’s breath warmed her neck. “We will return within a fortnight with the king’s blessing to arrest LeGode and save your sister.”
He didn’t give her time to respond before the three knights prodded their horses forward into the thick forest. Before too long, they emerged onto the King’s highway. Over hills, across fields, past Inns and taverns, they raced, their speed and the wind preventing any conversation. She spent most of the time thanking God for saving her, the rest thanking Him for Ronar. She still had trouble believing that he not only forgave her but had risked his position, his reputation—his very life—for her.
Thoughts of her sister made her long to turn around, steal her from her bed, and take her with them. But that was naught but her foolish emotions speaking. Appealing to the king was the wisest choice, the only way to save Cristiana. Nay, from now on she would allow the Holy Spirit to guide her and not her whimsical feelings.
Besides, her sister had the Spear. Surely it would keep her safe.
So caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t see the warriors galloping toward them in a cloud of dust and thunder. Not until Ronar reared up his horse so hard, the beast pawed the air in protest.
Damien let out a foul curse. “Bishop Montruse’s knights! He sent for them nearly a fortnight ago.”
“But they have no knowledge of what has occurred,” Ronar said.
Jarin steadied his agitated horse. “Indeed. They will recognize us as part of the King’s Guard and let us pass.”
Sounds behind them drew their gazes to a band of at least forty Luxley knights charging their rear. As soon as they spotted the bishop’s knights, one man broke rank and circled around, speeding toward the advancing army.
“Or not,” Jarin added.
Trapped. Alexia’s blood turned to ice. Outnumbered by at least one-hundred to four. They’d all be killed.
Or wors
e, captured.
And it was all her fault.
“What of the Spear? Do you have it?” Ronar asked, his tone desperate.
“Nay.” She absently rubbed her wrist.
She felt him stiffen behind her, heard the warrior emerge in his tone. “Then, gentlemen, let us not go down without a fight!”
All three men drew their swords.
Grabbing her bow strapped to Ronar’s saddle, Alexia resigned herself, for the second time that day, to her fate. For without the power of the Spear, what chance did they have?
Chapter 33
Even as Alexia nocked an arrow in her bow, she refused to believe this was the end God had planned for her. Something deep within her told her it wasn’t, that there was something yet she must do, some task yet unfinished. But what?
The knights before them and the ones behind started forward, trapping them between a press of swords that would impale them from both sides. Still, Ronar and his companions remained staunch, jaws tight, swords leveled, and eyes trained on their enemies.
Their horses grunted and thumped the ground, sensing the impending battle.
Terror tore through Alexia, scraping against muscle and nerve. Swallowing, she whispered a prayer, closed her eyes, and searched for the truth within—the peace, love and protection that came only from God, His love for her, His promises never to leave her, to be her rock, her refuge, her deliverer.
The words from 1 Samuel spilled from her lips, “There is none holy as the Lord: for there is none beside thee: neither is there any rock like our God.”
There. She felt Him wrapping His loving arms around her. She sensed His smile and heard the words, Open your eyes, my daughter.
Alexia obeyed. Fear loosened its grip and scurried away. She drew in a breath and blinked—not believing what she was seeing. Beings of light, nay, warriors of light surrounded them—massive beings, some atop horses, some on foot, all wearing silver armor that glowed so bright, it transformed the green field to white. With their backs to Alexia and their blades pointed outward, they formed an impenetrable fortress around her and her friends.
She Walks in Power Page 27