She Walks in Love (Protectors of the Spear Book 2)

by Marylu Tyndall

  Contents

  Front Matter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  BioAmazonLinks

  She Walks in Love

  Protectors of the Spear 2

  © 2019 by MaryLu Tyndall

  Published by Ransom Press

  San Jose, CA 95123

  ISBN: 978-0-9991763-9-9

  E-Version ISBN: 978-0-9991763-8-2

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author, MaryLu Tyndall.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Ravven

  Editors: Louise M. Gouge

  Dedication

  To those who love their neighbor as themselves

  For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

  Romans 8:38-39

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader, I labeled this novel a Medieval Fantasy Romance. However, don’t be confused by the fantasy title. This is not a fantasy as most people would classify that genre. This is a Medieval Romance that is not set in a real historic place. In other words, I took license with places, names, and with some language. Hence, please do not read with the intent of learning Medieval history! However, the fantasy label in no way can be attributed to the powerful and loving acts of God described in the story. Those are quite plausible for those who follow Him.

  If you wish to see character pictures and scenes from the book while you’re reading, visit my She Walks in Love Pinterest page

  Chapter 1

  Luxley Castle, Northland Goodryke

  “Prithee, whose wedding is it?”

  “’Tis yours, my lady,” the curious maid who buzzed around Cristiana D’Clere answered. “Do you not remember?”

  Mine? Closing her eyes, Cristiana attempted to shake the fog from her mind as the maid adjusted a circlet laden with flowers, atop her head. When she opened her eyes, it was to the blurred image of a woman in a looking glass. Her? Nay, not possible.

  She peered closer. Honey-streaked brown hair, braided with golden threads, tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, framing what could be considered a comely face, though a bit thin and pale. She wore an exquisite wedding gown of blue Samite silk with a jeweled belt hung about her hips. Her wide bell sleeves were embroidered in gold and embedded with glistening pearls that matched the adornment hanging about her neck. Light brown eyes—misty and vacant—stared back at her.

  The maid lifted a white veil over the lady’s head and draped it down her shoulders.

  Cristiana’s vision became snowy. She lifted her hand to rub her eyes, and the woman across from her did the same. Horror squeezed the breath from her lungs. She stumbled back from the looking glass as the truth sank in.

  My wedding?

  The maid gripped her elbow. Another woman scurried up from behind and caught her waist ere she fell. A wave of heat swamped her. One of the maids lifted her veil and set it gently atop her circlet.

  “Are you all right, my lady?” Her face appeared overly large and distorted before it suddenly disappeared. Blinking, Cristiana glanced over the chamber—her chamber, the room she’d occupied alone for the past seven years.

  Ever since her sister, Alexia, had abandoned her.

  Light flowed in waves through the small window and over a stone floor before firing glistening arrows atop a large bed set against one wall. A table and chairs perched beside a glowing hearth, and in the corner, two large chests sat open, overflowing with all manner of fine attire.

  Several women, dressed in too-fine clothing for maids, scurried about with various tasks of which Cristiana could make no sense. Some set vases of fresh flowers on the tables and mantel, others dusted and swept, some placed lit candles about, while others flung rose pedals on the bed.

  Nothing, in truth, made any sense.

  One of the ladies handed her a mug. “Here, my lady. A drink will settle your nerves. ’Tis normal to be nervous on your wedding day.”

  The tapestries decorating the high walls spun around her.

  “Who are you?”

  The lady’s brow twisted. “I’m Gelda, your bridesmaid.”

  Bridesmaid. “Who…who…” Cristiana took a sip of the spiced wine and attempted to draw a breath. “Where is Seraphina?”

  “Your lady’s maid? Never fear, my lady. She’s about somewhere. Prithee, be at ease. We must finish getting you ready. Sir Walter will be here anon to escort you to the ceremony in the great hall.”

  Setting down the cup, Cristiana gaped at the woman. Surely this was but a dream—a terrible, horrible dream. Lord knew she’d had many a nightmare the past few years. Some even whilst she was awake. Aye, that must be it. Closing her eyes, she prayed to wake up, but her head grew light again and she wobbled.

  Firm hands gripped both her arms ere she fell. Mayhap ’twas not such bad news…not if she were to marry Sir Jarin the Just. Was he not her hero? Her knight? The only man who caused her heart to leap at the mere thought of him? Besides, had she not always desired above all to be married to such a man? To be protected, cared for…cherished? Alas, why could she not recall the courtship…the engagement? She pinched the bridge of her nose, desperately trying to remember.

  “Who am I to marry?” she finally asked.

  Some of the ladies giggled.

  “Why, Sir Cedric LeGode, my lady. A fine man, if you ask me.”

  Cedric? She gasped for air that seemed to abandon the chamber, whilst the scent of tallow, rose water, and wine stole her hope that ’twas but a dream.

  The room became a tunnel, the end reaching far into the distance, distorting the ladies into odd shapes and sizes and twisting shadows into ghouls.

  She was ill again. After so long. How had she become ill again? “I don’t feel well,” she murmured.

  A rap on the door preceded the entrance of a man she knew all too well, and one she feared more than any other. Sir Walter LeGode, dressed in a silk tunic of forest green, a leather belt inlaid with jewels, and fine woolen hose leading down to green velvet shoes adorned with pearl
s, marched into the room as if he were lord of the manor. Which was his goal, after all. Was it not?

  ’Twas no dream, then.

  “Ah, you look lovely, my dear. Cedric will be most pleased.” His sickly-sweet smile loomed large in her blurred vision as he peered into her eyes searching for…what was he searching for? Her sanity? As was she, for she seemed to have misplaced it in the fog invading her thoughts.

  Muted sounds of music floated in from the open door, along with laughter, the clank of plates and bowls, and the spicy scents of roasted pheasant and wild boar.

  Sir Walter whirled to address one of the ladies. “Has she taken her potion?”

  “Aye, my lord. But she protests.”

  “She drank all of it?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Hmm.” Sir Walter looped his arm through hers and gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

  She stumbled forward. One of the ladies took her other arm and helped her through the door.

  “I cannot marry Cedric,” she heard herself say.

  “Of course you can. You’ve been betrothed for over a month now. Do you not remember?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, searching for a shred of reason. There was something…something important she must remember…but what?

  Tugging her arm from his, she staggered backward toward her bed. “I wish to see my sister, Alexia.”

  Sir Walter stiffened, then slowly turned to face her. “You poor dear. You don’t remember, do you? No doubt grief has cushioned you from the truth.”

  “Grief?” Cristiana grabbed a lock of her hair, twisting it around her finger. Her legs turned to potage, and she staggered, slapping away one of the women who reached for her.

  Sir Walter took a step toward her. His scent of spice and vinegar caused her nose to twitch. “Alexia was caught and tried as a witch at the king’s court. She was burned at the stake two months past.”

  “Nay.” Blinking, Cristiana tried to focus on his face, seeking the lie written therein. But his hideous visage whirled in her vision, coming in and out of view. Her sister burned as a witch? Nay! Sweet angels, what devilment was this? Even so, her heart grew so tight, she thought it would crumble to dust and blow away with the next word he spoke.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t to her, but to one of the women.

  “Lady Miriam, I beg you, would you go to the apothecary and fetch Lady Cristiana’s medicine? She is not quite herself today, and we must see to it she is well for the ceremony.” Facing the others, he clapped his hands. “Now, off with you!” All of them scurried out save for one, whom he gestured to remain.

  “Drink your medicine, my lady.” He lifted Cristiana’s hand and kissed it ere she could retrieve it. “I shall delay the guests and return anon when you are recovered.”

  With that, he pivoted on his velvet shoes and pranced from the room, leaving Cristiana in a fog of fear and confusion. The remaining lady came to assist her, but she waved her away.

  “Leave me. I wish to rest.”

  But the lady didn’t leave. She merely retreated into the shadows and sat in one of the chairs by the hearth. An ache rose to throb behind Cristiana’s temples, and she rubbed them as she lowered to her bed. Concentrate, concentrate! Her sister dead? Marry Cedric? She was ill. There was something deep in her memory about being ill. But what? Tears blurred her vision even further, and she gripped her stomach, resisting the urge to cry in front of this stranger. If Alexia was dead and Cristiana was sick again, what hope was there for anything?

  She was tired, so very tired. Her eyelids drooped, her breathing became as jumbled and erratic as her thoughts.

  Scraping sounded in the distance, as if two stones rubbed against one another—large stones. Slowly, Cristiana turned her head toward the other lady in the room. She had risen and was staring at another woman. The intruder grabbed her and placed a cloth on her mouth. Her struggling ceased within seconds, and the woman lowered her gently back into the chair. What an odd dream. Maybe Cristiana truly was ill and needed her medicine, after all. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes again.

  Two hands grasped her arms and yanked her to sit. “My lady! My lady! Wake up. We must leave!”

  “Seraphina?” Cristiana knew that voice, recognized the snowy hair tumbling over her shoulders like an icy waterfall.

  “We haven’t much time. Come, my lady.”

  Cristiana felt herself hoisted up as Seraphina positioned her shoulder beneath Cristiana’s arm and all but dragged her across the stone floor.

  “Where…why…?” she managed to squeak out.

  “To save you from Sir Walter and Cedric. Come. They have lied to you.”

  Aye, lied…deceived. Of course. They want power and…! Cristiana caught her breath and clutched Seraphina’s arm. “The Spear!”

  “Never fear, my lady. I have it.” Seraphina continued toward the door, passing the lady slumped in the chair.

  “What of…?” Cristiana gestured toward the woman.

  “She will recover.” Seraphina led Cristiana through an opening in the wall, then propped her against another wall as she pulled a leather strap on the stone door and enclosed them in darkness—frightening darkness. And silence, save for the drip-drip of water in the distance.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To safety, my lady.” Seraphina took her arm and led Cristiana down a dark tunnel.

  Chapter 2

  Nine months later, Braewood Castle, Gavinshire

  Robin Praxis, Lord Braewood, was indeed gone. ‘Twas the first time he’d left Braewood Castle in three months. Cristiana stood at the window of her chamber as a half-moon rose to dribble milky white atop the trees. Ten hours past, she’d watched as the forest swallowed up his carriage, along with the two soldiers on horseback who guarded him. She should be elated, excited even, for this was her one chance to escape. Or so Seraphina repeatedly told her. But all Cristiana felt was terror.

  The wooden door creaked open and in rushed the lady herself, eyes lit with urgency. “The time is upon us, my lady.” Clutching her skirts, she moved to the window and followed Cristiana’s gaze. “’Tis the first time he has ever left us alone and unguarded.”

  “Because he trusts us…me.” Guilt pricked Cristiana. Lord Braewood had been naught but kind to her and Seraphina, ever since he’d found them in the nearby village, shivering in the cold, their attire stained and tattered. They’d been near to starving as they prayed for people in exchange for scraps of food.

  Sighing, Seraphina backed away from the window, her sapphire-blue eyes filled with both concern and fear. A braid of hair the color of glistening snow dangled down the back of her emerald green tunic. “Which is precisely why we must leave. Now. Ere he returns and decides not to trust you.”

  Cristiana retreated from the window and grabbed a lock of her hair, her thoughts awhirl. She glanced over her chamber, full of everything she could want. Light from several candles fluttered over a wardrobe overflowing with fine gowns, a glowing hearth constantly kept her warm, a case laden with books that had provided months of reading, and a canopied bed that was as soft and feathery as the clouds. “Alas, look how well he treats me. And you as well, Seraphina.”

  Cristiana clutched the edges of her Camelot surcote and spread out the rich vermilion fabric. “He dresses us in the finest attire, provides every luxury, and we feast like royalty. And what does he ask in return? Merely that I heal those who are ill. Those who come to us for prayer. How could there be evil in such a man?”

  Seraphina flattened her lips. “He charges money for your skills, my lady. Large sums which sentence those who come for healing to a life of poverty.”

  Cristiana lowered to sit on her bed. “So you have said.”

  “Do you not trust me?”

  “Oh, Sera, of course. You are my lifelong friend.” She reached for her. “The only person who has not abandoned me.”

  Seraphina took her hand and sat beside her.

  “If he does take paym
ent,” Cristiana continued, “what of it? He no doubt uses it for our care, as well as Thebe’s.” She stared at her friend. “You wish to leave that precious child?”

  “Nay, my lady. I wish to take her with us. ’Tis not safe for her here.” Seraphina bit her lip and stared into the coals of the hearth. “I have seen it. Danger and darkness await us if we remain.”

  Cristiana knew Seraphina had the gift of sight and had oft predicted future events. The lady also knew things she could not know by natural means. But, in good sooth, mayhap her disdain for Lord Braewood had stifled those gifts in this matter.

  Seraphina turned to face her, squeezing her hands. “I beg you, my lady. He is gone only this one night. I have prepared everything. But we must leave now.”

  “But the guards.”

  “Naught to fear, my lady. ’Twas an easy task to convince the steward to grant them extra mead at this evening’s repast. Especially with their lord gone. Hence, they are no doubt slumbering at their posts. ’Twould be of no account to take Thebe and two horses and leave by the back gate.”

  “Horses? Where are you to procure those? And what of the guard who stands at the gate each eve?”

  Seraphina smiled. “He will be engaged elsewhere. I have paid Mistress Eleanor to lure him aside with her charms. And we both know the stable boy is quite taken with me.”

  Cristiana couldn’t help but laugh. “I fear a devil dwells beneath your angelic exterior, Sera.”

  “Call it what you wish, but I have vowed to keep you safe, my lady.”

  “And how would I be any safer out there?” Cristiana gestured toward the window as a gust of wind whirled inside, spinning the candle flames and bringing with it the scent of horses and earth. “Where we have no provision or protection. Do you not remember the six months we spent wandering from village to village, sleeping on the cold, damp ground, begging for even the scraps fed the chickens?”

  “Of course I do. ’Twas the worst time of my life. But we didn’t die or starve. Nor were we even accosted. God took care of us.”