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

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Aye, by bringing Lord Braewood across our path.”

  Sighing, Seraphina stood. “We were doing well enough after you discovered the power of the Spear to heal.”

  Cristiana rubbed her wrist and gazed at the mark that had miraculously appeared there when her sister Alexia had transferred ownership of the relic to her. The Spear of Destiny—the tip of the spear which had stabbed Christ’s side. ’Twas said to have powers for war and against one’s enemies. Which was why so many sought it, including the king himself. And the King’s Guard—powerful knights who served only him. But she had no idea the Spear possessed powers to heal as well until she had prayed for a crippled lad in the village of Savinne. She’d only done it to silence his mother, who had discovered them hiding in a church, pronounced Cristiana an angel, and demanded she pray for her son.

  When the lad’s twisted leg had straightened and he began laughing and running, his mother had all but worshiped Cristiana. But ’twas God who had performed the miracle. Through the Spear. It had to be. For Cristiana could never have done such a feat.

  Seraphina strolled to the hearth and held out her hands to the warm coals. “People were offering food and shelter in return for your prayers for their sick. We could have eventually afforded a home of our own.”

  “Mayhap. But protection? Lord Braewood offered both,” Cristiana countered, hating to argue with her dear friend.

  “He uses you for gain.” Seraphina faced her. “Why can you not see that?”

  “Then why take in Thebe at my request? She brings no value to him. She is but a lowly child, orphaned in the fire that struck the village six months past.” Cristiana rose and hugged herself.

  “I wish you would trust me, my lady. He is not the man you believe him to be. His intentions are far from benevolent.”

  The woman’s gnawing persistence reminded Cristiana that Seraphina was a friend, aye, but also a servant. “Do you take me for a fool? Have I traded one evil lord for another? At least I am not forced to take potions which keep my mind befuddled and my body abed. You have no idea how wonderful it is to regain my strength.” She exhaled a deep sigh before continuing. “To have a clear mind, to be in control of my thoughts again. After so many years.”

  Seraphina approached, desperation spiking her tone. “Then use those thoughts to choose the wise path. Let us go home, I beseech you.”

  “Home to what? With my disappearance and Alexia wanted for witchcraft, Sir Walter has no doubt petitioned the king for ownership of Luxley.” After their escape, Seraphina had informed Cristiana that her sister was still alive, much to her utter glee.

  “The king is wise. He will not grant it ere he has proof of your death.”

  “Sweet angels! Indeed. Another reason not to return to a man who would happily seek my end.”

  “And what of your sister?” Seraphina arched a condemning brow. “Would you leave her to face such danger alone?”

  Cristiana stared at the coals, hating the guilt rippling through her. “Alexia is strong, much stronger than I have ever been. If anyone can regain Luxley, ’tis her.”

  “Mayhap she needs your help. At least bring her the Spear.”

  Cristiana patted her thigh where she had strapped the relic. ’Twas the only place to keep it safe and always with her.

  Seraphina huffed. “’Tis well you at least heed my advice to keep it hidden. Should Lord Braewood discover it, he would have no further need of you.”

  Cristiana stared at her friend, anger rising. “’Tis a folly you speak so ill of him.”

  Seraphina lowered her head. “Forgive me, my lady.” She wandered to the window again. “And what of Sir Jarin?”

  Jarin the Just, the knight who had stolen Cristiana’s heart. The name that still sent a bolt of warmth through her. She could picture his dark hair curled at the tips as it hung to his shoulders, the trimmed beard lining his chin and jaw, his brown eyes so full of strength and concern, the deep timbre of his voice, and the way his roguish smile sent her heart careening in delight. But he’d abandoned her. Like everyone else. “What of him?” she spat out. “We found no trace of him or any of them in Emerald Forest.”

  “We didn’t search long enough. I know Alexia and the friar have a hideout there.”

  Suddenly chilled, Cristiana moved to the hearth and dropped to a chair. “Should we have stayed until Sir Walter’s soldiers found us? They were fast on our trail as you remember. Even so, ’tis obvious by now that Sir Jarin does not search for me. He has no doubt moved on to another.”

  “And your sister and Sir Ronar LePeine?” Seraphina asked, her tone a spear of reprimand.

  “Hopefully in hiding from those who wish her burned at the stake. I place no blame on her for not coming to my aid.”

  “Then let us go find her, my lady.” Seraphina knelt before her. “And Sir Jarin, Sir Ronar, and Sir Damien LaRage. Let us join their cause.”

  As much as Cristiana longed to see her sister and ensure she was safe, the thought of leaving the only place she’d ever felt secure and venturing into the unknown again made every inch of her seize with panic. Most of her eighteen years had been fraught with uncertainty, fear, betrayal, and death.

  A knock on the door saved her from declaring her cowardice to her friend. Cristiana’s maid, Muriel, entered, Thebe in her arms. At the sight of Cristiana, the two-year-old girl wiggled free to the floor and darted toward her. “Cristi, Cristi!” She leapt into her arms, and Cristiana squeezed her tight. “Why are you not abed, dear one?” She glanced at Muriel, whose nervous gaze shifted to Seraphina. “Nor in your night dress?” she added, taking in the girl’s gown and woolen cloak.

  Seraphina rose. “I had Muriel prepare her for our journey. We must leave. We have but a small window of time ere the guard returns to his post.”

  Cristiana kissed Thebe’s forehead, her ire rising. “You will not only subject me to danger, but this child as well?”

  “There is far more danger here, my lady. Prithee, you must believe me.”

  Cristiana glanced at the maid, who remained at the door. “And what do you think, Muriel? You have served Lord Braewood for years.”

  “I do not think, my lady. I merely do as I am told.”

  “Hmm. Do you wish to escape this place?”

  Muriel’s eyes shifted between Cristiana and Seraphina ere they lowered to the floor. “Nay, I have a home here.”

  “Tell her what you overheard, Muriel,” Seraphina ordered the maid. “Mayhap she’ll believe you.”

  The young girl, who could be no older than thirteen, shifted her feet across the floor but never raised her eyes. “I heard my lord arguing with Lady Braewood two nights past. His mother wished him to wed you as soon as possible.”

  “Peace froth!” Cristiana laughed, jarring Thebe, who had laid her head on her shoulder. “He has no such romantic notions.”

  “Indeed, my lady,” Muriel added, “for he said he had no desire to wed. Rather he wished to discover the power behind your healing and acquire it for himself. He made mention of gaining a fortune by doing so.”

  Cristiana swallowed. The revelation slowly wormed its way into her heart, depositing a lesion of doubt. Muriel had no reason to lie about such a matter. “I bid you, Muriel, give me your troth that you speak the truth.”

  The maid finally raised her gaze and nodded.

  Another betrayal. Would they never cease? She kissed Thebe’s forehead as confusion and heartache stirred a wicked brew within her. Yet there was no time to decide the right course. She must trust Seraphina. “Then we shall leave.” With the child still in her arms, she rose and nodded for the maid to grab her woolen cloak. “My things.” Terror suddenly took hold of her as she glanced around the chamber at all the comforts she would leave behind.

  “I have packed a bag for each of us already.” Seraphina started for the door. “Just carry the girl. This way.”

  Cristiana followed her, glancing at the maid. “Come with us, Muriel.”

  “I cannot, my l
ady. I wouldn’t know what to do in the world.” Tears filled the young girl’s eyes. “Godspeed.”

  “And to you.”

  Down the winding stairs, Cristiana fled. Past the great hall where several people slept on reed pallets near the massive hearth, past the dark kitchen, and out into the bailey.

  The chill of the night permeated Cristiana’s thin tunic even as her heart froze in fear and uncertainty. Should she leave this safe place on the word of one maid? Nay. ’Twas also Seraphina’s word. But where would they go? How would they care for this precious child that was even now growing heavy in her arms?

  Seraphina disappeared into the stables and emerged moments later with two palfreys, saddled, bridled and ready to ride.

  “Hurry.” Taking the reins, she led her horse through the courtyard toward the back where a half-moon revealed no guard stood at the post. Pushing open the gate, she led her horse through, the creaking sound reverberating like a gong through the night.

  Cristiana stood frozen in place, staring at the open gate as Seraphina tied their bags to the back of her saddle, then mounted the horse with an ease that surprised her. Beyond, only darkness rose from a forest that surrounded Braewood Hall. The scent of earthy loam, hay, and horses filled her nose, whilst the howl of a distant wolf prickled the hair on her arms. Outside that gate were wars, hunger, cold, predators, evil men, and danger. Yet inside these walls were secrets, lies, and betrayal.

  “Come, precious.” Cristiana kissed Thebe and started to lift her onto the saddle. “I’m going to put you on the horse now.”

  “Ride horsey?” the sleepy child said gleefully.

  “Aye, dear. Ride horsey.”

  “Nay, dear, no horse ride for you this night.” The voice snaked an icy trail down Cristiana’s back. She spun to see three figures emerge from the shadows. Lord Braewood, flanked by two of his knights.

  Cristiana drew the child back to her chest and retreated a step, her heart banging so hard against her ribs, she thought it would break through.

  Seraphina groaned as her horse pawed the dirt.

  “Don’t just stand there!” he ordered his men. “Grab her!”

  The men started for Seraphina. Cristiana couldn’t breathe. Thebe started to cry.

  And Seraphina did the one thing Cristiana never thought she would do. She slapped the reins against the horse’s neck, and after giving Cristiana one last glance of remorse, kicked her heels against its sides and sped off into the darkness.

  “Should I go after her, my lord?” one of the knight’s said.

  “Nay. She will trouble us no further.” Then turning to Cristiana, Lord Braewood pasted on a smile that curdled her stomach. “Now, my dear, where were you running off to in the middle of the night?”

  At that moment, two horrid things occurred to her. One, she was the biggest fool that ever lived, and two, along with everyone else in her life, her best friend had just abandoned her.

  Chapter 3

  Luxley Castle, Northland Goodryke

  No one of rank ever took note of a servant. Especially a male servant whose face was scarred and deformed by war. ’Tis what Jarin the Just relied upon as he hobbled into the study of Sir Walter LeGode with a pail full of hot coals. Hunching over to hide his height, he hoped his tattered cloak also hid his broad shoulders as he made his way to the brazier, dragging his worn shoes over the stone floor.

  “’Tis about time!” Sir Walter barked at him from behind his desk. “Devil’s blood! I could die of cold ere my servants attend their tasks.” He held a folded parchment up to the candlelight as though he could see through the paper. The missive had just been delivered by a lad who stood by the open door awaiting instructions.

  Jarin dipped his head and started toward the iron brazier in the corner. Sir Walter was right about one thing. ’Twas chilled in this room. But the gooseflesh prickling over Jarin’s skin came not merely from the cold. Evil surrounded him. Dark, malevolent evil—a heaviness that pressed on him and threatened to send him darting out the door. Forsooth, and he, a knight! One of the famous King’s Guards. Rather he used to be. Still, he had fought and subdued the fiercest warriors on the battlefield. Bosh! What devilment was this that sped his heart in fear? Mayhap ’twas one of Lady Falcon’s elusive spirits. He smiled as he knelt before the brazier and opened the iron grate. Poppycock!

  “From the king?” Bishop Montruse yawned in his chair before Sir Walter’s desk, the sapphire ring on his hand glistening in the candlelight as he brought a glass of wine to his lips. “Open it, you fool.”

  Jarin began shoving hot coals into the brazier as slowly as he could.

  The sound of a torn paper preceded a moment of silence ere an eruption spewed from Sir Walter’s mouth more vile than any curses Jarin had heard on the battlefield. The bishop only laughed. “You wake the devil with such language, LeGode. Tsk-tsk.”

  “You think he is not already astir with such an affront as this?” Sir Walter shook the paper vehemently in the air.

  Jarin continued filling the brazier. Indeed. If there was a devil, he was definitely present in this place. Another chill gripped him as Sir Walter continued his rampage, unleashing his vitriol onto the poor lad who’d brought him the missive. “What are you still doing here? Out with you!”

  The boy’s footsteps barely hit the floor as he fled.

  “I take it the king has not granted your request for Luxley?” The bishop’s tone was mocking.

  Sir Walter growled. “Nay, Your Grace.” He tossed the parchment down and grabbed a mug from his desk. “He wishes proof that Cristiana D’Clere is dead. How am I to provide that when my men have been unable to locate her? The vile wench! She is a witch like her sister.”

  “At least you haven’t had to deal with the first witch. ’Twould appear her fear of the stake has kept her far away. Mayhap for good, if she possesses a brain in that pretty head. Hence, you have but one witch to do away with.” Bishop Montruse gave a superior grin. “If you and your fluff-headed soldiers can find her.”

  “When, you mean to say. Though I grant you, she appears to be as elusive as her sister.” Sir Walter dropped back into his chair, mug of wine in hand. “I still don’t see how she and those infernal knights could have evaded our combined forces.”

  Montruse fingered the gold cross around his neck. “Never fear. They will not evade us for long. We have God on our side.”

  Sir Walter’s mouth twisted, but he made no reply.

  “I must find that Spear!” The bishop’s calm demeanor swiftly vanished. “One of them has it.” He rose and swept aside his long, embroidered tunic as he marched toward Jarin.

  Jarin continued his work, ducking his face in the shadows. Red silk shoes appeared in his vision, but the bishop paid him no mind.

  “I cannot”—the bishop continued, fingering his elaborate maniple—“nay I will not be banished to this…this…barbaric, paltry estate! Curse those King’s Guard and the witches who beguile them!”

  The room reverberated with his blasphemy and filled with tension at the affront done the steward.

  Jarin stirred the coals, releasing heat that quelled the icy shroud surrounding him.

  Sir Walter slowly rose. “You make too free with your insults, Your Grace. Luxley is a vast holding and one which many covet.”

  Bishop Montruse spun about and uttered an indignant huff. “Mayhap for the likes of you, but I am accustomed to the king’s palace. And I will make free with whatever I wish. You would do well to remember that, sir.”

  “Of course.” Sir Walter dipped his head. “Then you should know that the Spear has not made an appearance in this castle for months.”

  Jarin remained stooped before the brazier, though his task was complete.

  “And how do you know such a thing?”

  “I have my sources.”

  The bishop snorted. “Your son? Is that where Cedric has disappeared to these past months? Summoning the spirits?”

  Sir Walter looked surprised.

&nb
sp; Montruse sauntered back to Sir Walter’s desk. “Faith now, do you take me for a fool, Sir?”

  “I would never presume, your Excellency.” Yet Sir Walter’s tone bore sarcasm.

  Montruse flattened his palms on the top of the desk and leaned toward the steward. “I know Cedric spends much time beneath this castle. Just what are you hiding down there? Never mind.” Pushing from the desk, he waved his hand through the air, his billowing white sleeves fluttering around him. “I do not wish to know. I need the Spear, or the king will have my head.”

  “Hurry up with the coals, you lout!” Sir Walter shouted at Jarin.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” Jarin closed the grate and slowly rose to a hunched position.

  Retrieving the king’s missive from his desk, Sir Walter held it to a candle flame. The paper instantly ignited. He watched it curiously as if it were the king himself who was burning, ere he started toward the brazier. Jarin quickly stepped aside. “I must find Lady Cristiana, and you must find the Spear. Perchance they are together.” One brow rose as Sir Walter tossed the paper onto the glowing coals.

  “Forsooth! The Spear with that ruffle-headed woman? Nay. She has neither the brains nor bravery of her sister.”

  “I do not gainsay it, Your Grace.” Sir Walter wandered to the window, where even the sunlight seemed afraid to enter. “We still have a bargain, do we not?”

  “Aye, the Spear for Luxley. I have not forgotten.” The bishop fingered his pointed beard. “Therefore, I will help you eliminate Lady Cristiana. And together we will find and kill these Knights of the Eternal Realm, as they call themselves now.” He chuckled. “Ludicrous, insolent name.”

  Sir Walter faced the bishop. “They continue to thwart us. Leaving meat for the villagers against our decree, even slipping in and out of Luxley undetected, like spirits of the night!”

  Jarin slowly made his way to the door.

  “Then use spirits to fight them, sir.” The bishop’s tone turned oily and sinister. At Sir Walter’s look of shock, he added, “Do I surprise you?”