Dropping her bow and arrows on a table, Alexia grabbed a coverlet, flung it about the woman’s shoulders, and knelt before her. Despite her obvious discomfort, Seraphina smiled at her friend, then shifted her blue eyes up to Ronar, then over to Jarin. Was it merely his own hope, or was there a flicker of eagerness in her gaze when it met his?
Friar Josef returned with a pewter mug into which he poured steaming water from a kettle hung over the fire. “Here my dear. This will soothe you. Holy saints…” He examined her cuts and bruises and turned away, no doubt to seek out salve and bandages.
“Never fear, Friar.” Alexia stayed him with a touch to his arm. “I shall tend to her wounds. Let us allow her to breathe.”
Seraphina sipped the tea, closed her eyes, and swallowed it, her breath still coming fast. “I need no time. Thank God I found you! I have been praying…praying…searching the forest. But in His mercy, our Lord led me straight to you.”
“’Tis truly a miracle.” Removing his sword from its sheath, Ronar sat in one of the chairs across from her.
Alexia slid onto the bench beside her friend, while the friar gripped the cross hanging around his neck and stood waiting off to the side.
Waiting had never been one of Jarin’s skills. Shifting his gaze from the lady lest he burst out with the questions burning on his tongue, he glanced over the large chamber, still fascinated that such a place existed beneath the earth. Colorful tapestries decorated the stone walls, and fine oak chairs and tables furnished the room. One entire wall was lined with shelf after shelf of books, before which sat the friar’s desk, a storm of parchment and quill pens scattered across it. A linen-clad trestle table where they enjoyed their meals stood to the right. Beyond that, a small corridor led to two other chambers, one of which was where Alexia slept for propriety’s sake.
He returned his gaze to Seraphina, who took another sip of tea and appeared to be trying to settle her breathing.
“Where is Damien?” Ronar addressed the friar as he leaned forward on his knees.
As if summoned by his name, the secret knock echoed through the chamber, and Ronar rushed to admit his friend and fellow King’s Guard, Sir Damien LaRage. The mighty warrior, still attired in the leather, metal, and myriad weapons of a King’s Guard, stomped into the room, a smile on his face and two dead pheasants in his hand. “Supper!” he announced. “We shall feast—” His eyes landed on Seraphina, and it seemed for a moment he believed not what they told him.
She smiled his way. “Sir Damien.”
’Twas all it took to cause him to drop the birds to the silk carpet and rush forward to kneel at her feet, scanning her with a gaze that bespoke of concern and—dare Jarin guess—affection? ’Twas a rare thing for Damien to take an interest in anything save his drink and his revenge. How had Jarin missed this?
For moments they stared at one another as if they were the only two people in the chamber.
Chuckling, the friar picked up the birds and set them on a sideboard by the hearth.
“Fetch her something to eat,” Damien barked.
“Nay.” The woman set her tea aside. “I must speak first.”
Forcing himself to stand, Damien took a spot beside Seraphina, his steely expression masking his emotions.
“What news of my sister?” Rare tears filled Alexia’s eyes as she gripped the woman’s hands. “Pray, ’tis not bad, is it? I could not bear it.”
Jarin raised the steel fortress around his heart once again. At Seraphina’s appearance, hope had lowered it slightly, but he could not allow that. He was well acquainted with bad news. In truth, he’d been battling it for years, and he would not grant his enemy another victory.
“Pray, forgive me.” Seraphina squeezed her friend’s hands. “Never fear. She is well, my lady. At least last I saw her. But she finds herself in a desperate situation.”
“Tush! Where is she?” Ronar asked. “And where have you both been these ten months?”
Drawing in a breath, Seraphina tugged her hands from Alexia’s, clasped them in her lap, and proceeded to tell them a tale of such woe, Jarin could hardly keep silent. She relayed how they had escaped the day of Cristiana’s wedding to Cedric, how they’d spent six months out in the cold, hungry and frightened, then how they discovered that the Spear gave Cristiana the power to heal.
“She healed the sick and lame without recompense, merely for scraps of food,” Seraphina continued. “Until a man named Lord Braewood took us in.”
Jarin knew enough about the world, knew enough about the greed and depravity of man to know this Lord Braewood had ill intentions even before Seraphina continued with the rest of the story.
Jarin could hold his peace no longer. “And she does not attempt to escape?”
Seraphina fixed him with eyes filled with despair but also determination. “She is frightened Sir Jarin. Lord Braewood offers her security, a home, her every need met. After what she has been through—abandoned by everyone she loved, poisoned and kept prisoner in her own castle—can you blame her?”
Alexia lowered her gaze, a visible shudder running through her. “I should not have ceased searching for her.”
Rising, Ronar slid beside her and flung an arm over her shoulder. “We did all we could, my love. We searched high and low for three months, spoke with countless peasants, tradesmen, farmers, and clergymen.”
Damien moved to stare at the fire. “Aye, and risked arrest everywhere we went.”
Seraphina shook her head and gave Alexia a sympathetic look. “You would not have found us. Lady Cristiana wanted to get as far from here as she could. We hid in stables, barns, and abandoned churches, and oft in the forest. We became quite good at staying out of sight.”
Damien smiled her way. “We trusted you to care for her.”
She returned his smile as Alexia gripped her hand again. “I owe you everything for staying by her side.”
“You owe me naught. She is not only my lady but my friend.”
“Still.” Alexia frowned. “I should not have given up.”
“We had our battles to fight here,” Ronar offered.
“And we trusted God to bring the lady back in His good time,” the friar added.
Tiring of talk, Jarin stepped forward, anxious to do something. “Does this man have improper intentions toward her?”
“Nay, ’tis not like that. At least not what I have seen. He wishes only to use her power for money.”
“Then she is not safe there.” Jarin gripped the hilt of his sword.
A tear slipped down Seraphina’s face. She swiped it away. “I doubt he would harm her. As long as she continues to heal those who come for help.”
“But what happens when he finds the Spear?” Jarin huffed. “Or worse, it ceases to heal?”
“’Tis not the Spear that heals,” the friar interjected.
Jarin frowned at the holy man. ’Twas not the time for his spiritual babble. “Regardless, should this power fade, what would become of Cristiana?”
Seraphina lowered her gaze. “I’ll grant you I do not know the answer to that.”
Ronar held his palm up to Jarin as if to calm him. “Then we have a bit of time on our side.”
“Nay, the situation is most urgent,” Jarin shot back. “Not only due to this vermin Braewood, but because of what I overheard at Luxley today.”
All eyes snapped to him.
Shrugging from beneath Ronar’s arm, Alexia stood. “Prithee, give us the sum of it.”
Jarin scrubbed the stubble on his chin. “They intend to hunt her down and kill her. And they will find her, I assure you. They have powers of their own—dark powers. I felt them today.” He stiffened his jaw. “They are stronger than ever.”
“Aye.” Ronar ran a hand through his hair. “I felt them as well a sennight ago when I snuck into Luxley through the tunnels. Whatever evil is there, it grows.”
Damien crossed arms over his chest. “How do we fight something we cannot see?”
Friar Josef smiled. �
��With another unseen Being much more powerful.” The man’s infernal confidence and peace always grated on Jarin.
Alexia nodded. “Indeed.”
Ronar stood. “Agreed.”
Jarin moved to a cabinet against the wall where they stored their weapons. “Then we must go rescue her! I will not be detained further.” He chose several knives, a long dagger, and an axe.
Ronar growled and moved to stand beside him. “I have not detained you, my friend. I merely advised you after we wasted three months searching for her, to remain here where we would eventually receive news of her. And hence, we have.”
“All in God’s good time.” The friar moved to the sideboard where he gathered a piece of bread and handed it to Damien.
The large knight knelt before Seraphina and gave it to her. “I am in agreement. We cannot delay her rescue,” he said to them all, though his eyes never left the lady.
Alexia shook her head. “Alas, we cannot all leave now. Not with the villagers depending on us for food, and the darkness soon to swallow Luxley. Our battle is here.”
“You are right, my love.” Ronar sighed. “Damien, I need you here.”
Alexia grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows from the table. “I must go.”
“Nay.” Ronar’s tone was commanding. “You will be caught.”
“She is my sister.” Alexia swung her quiver over her shoulder and faced her intended. “I will not disappoint her again.”
Ronar growled. “You are wanted for witchcraft. And your face is known throughout the land. I will not lose you.”
“Enough! I will go.” Jarin sheathed his weapons and addressed Lady Falcon. “Ronar is right. You should remain.” He gripped her hand in an effort to assure her of his determination. “Never fear, my lady. I will find her, and I will bring her back. You have my troth.”
Chapter 5
Braewood Castle, Gavinshire
“You must woo her, Robin. You must compliment her, offer her gifts, promise your devotion and protection.” Lord Robin Braewood’s mother, the matriarch of Braewood Castle, spread out the folds of her silk cote as she stared into the hearth, where recently-stoked flames danced like evil druids. She spun to face him, that all-too-familiar castigating frown upon her thin lips.
Robin sank to the bed with a huff. “I have tried, Mother. But you know I have no interest in the lady. She is far too refined, too prudish.”
She let out a groan of disgust. “Peace froth! I will have no more of your insolent disregard! Your father would disavow you and cast you hence from Braewood.”
“As well I know, Mother.” But his father had taken to an early grave, a fact Robin thanked the stars for every day. At least his mother had need of him for support and mayhap bore some affection for him as her only son.
Demia Praxis, Lady Braewood approached him. The lines on her plump face and the silver in her hair did naught to distract from both the finery and fripperies of her attire, nor the authority with which she sent the staunchest servant scurrying with but one look.
The same look now scoured over Robin. “As I have informed you, my spies have returned with good news. The lady is heir to Luxley Castle in Northland Goodryke, an esteemed holding! When you marry her, ’twill be ours. Then with her power of healing, think of the wealth and status we will achieve. In good sooth, we may even be called to court.” She smiled and dipped in the courtliest curtsy. “Friends of the king, can you imagine?”
But Robin saw no such glorious future. At least not for him. He swallowed down a lump of dread. “You sentence me to a life devoid of love.”
Raising her hand, she slapped him hard across the face.
His head jerked to the right, and he pressed a palm over the sting radiating across his cheek into his jaw and down his neck. Alas, the sting of her callous regard hurt even more.
“Love! Bah!” she raged, waving her arm through the air. “You may have all the mistresses you wish when we are swimming in riches. Just marry the wench!”
Rising, Robin nodded, then rushed from his mother’s solar and down the dank hall, swiping away the tears spilling down his cheeks. He had no choice, and he knew it. If he was ever going to gain his mother’s love and approval, if he was ever going to secure their future—as was his duty—he must marry Lady Cristiana D’Clere. Whether she agreed to the match or not.
♥♥♥
Tunic spread around her, Cristiana sat upon the woven wool rug in her chamber, Thebe by her side and two stuffed dolls in their hands. ’Twas Cristiana’s favorite time of day—afternoons she spent with the little girl, playing, laughing, instructing. After Seraphina had abandoned her, Lord Braewood had punished Cristiana by not allowing her to see Thebe. It had been torture of the worst kind, and she’d quickly begged his forgiveness and his mercy in order to see the girl. His lordship had been more than kind to grant both.
Thebe giggled. “Sing, dance!”
Smiling, Cristiana began singing a song her mother used to hum throughout Luxley castle… at least what she remembered of it since she was but seven when Mother died. Taking her doll, she moved her in a jovial dance over the carpet while Thebe did the same. Together they laughed and sang until the girl grew tired. Then hugging her doll to her chest, she crawled into Cristiana’s arms.
“Story,” she said, as afternoon sunlight speared the colorful rug, transforming dust into diamonds in the air.
Cristiana wrapped both arms around the girl and leaned her chin on her head, pondering what tale to tell this time. ’Twas a practice they’d both embraced whene’er Thebe grew weary. A story always aided the child to fall asleep while at the same time gave Cristiana a chance to dream of lands and adventures beyond Braewood Manor, of places where life was happy and safe and nary a trouble dared tread.
She began a tale of a beautiful and powerful princess who ruled her people with goodness and love. A lady who was braver than a knight and wiser than a sage—all the things Cristiana was not but yearned so badly to be. She was halfway through the story when she felt Thebe grow heavy in her arms and heard the door to her chamber creak open.
In sauntered Lord Braewood, Muriel on his heels. With a snap of his fingers and a gesture to Thebe, Muriel reached down for the girl, giving Cristiana a reassuring smile that indicated she would take good care of the babe. A slight moan was all Thebe uttered as Muriel drew her into her arms and left the chamber.
Lord Braewood, dressed in a fine woolen surcote, trimmed in fur and clasped with an emerald brooch, smiled and extended his ringed hand. Taking it, she rose to her feet, quick in her attempt to retrieve her hand. But he refused, and instead lifted it to his lips for a kiss. The odd look in his eyes—one of a wolf toward its prey—alarmed her, and she took a step back and shifted her gaze away. Was the man still angry at her attempted escape nigh a month past? He’d informed her that his anger stemmed merely from the pain her mistrust had caused him, that she was free to leave Braewood at any time. Simply not with the babe. Thebe would not be thrust out into the cold world to starve, he had said, feigning an affection for the little girl which ne’er revealed itself in his actions.
Ergo, she was as much a prisoner in Braewood as if there were iron bars on her door. For how could she subject such an innocent babe to the cruel, frightening world when the child had her every need met here? Nor would she abandon her as everyone had done to Cristiana.
Thus the iron bars, though unseen, were there nonetheless. And Cristiana had forced herself to be kind and compliant to the man she now knew was the monster Seraphina had believed him to be.
“Give ear a moment, my lady,” he said, brushing a curl of his light hair from his face. “To the point, I fear your reputation is in danger. There is much talk amongst the townsfolk that you live at Braewood Castle without benefit of marriage.”
Marriage? Cristiana attempted to hide her shock even as she wondered from whence came this sudden interest. “Surely they know I am your ward and here to heal those who are ill.”
Shrugging, he
raised his brows and flourished one hand through the air. “One would assume thus. But alas, people oft think the worst, as you know.” He moved to the window where sunlight sparkled on the gold embroidery on the sleeves of his tunic. “Indeed, it does not bode well for me to be considered such a reprobate.”
“I marvel anyone would think so, my lord.”
At this, he smiled, a tight smile, which seemed forced, and she began to fear he might cast her out. Without Thebe.
“I care not for my reputation, my Lord,” she continued, “but I am troubled yours is affected. What can I do?”
“Why, marry me, of course.” He rushed to her and took her hands in his. “I love you, Cristiana. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you in town. You have my troth that I will cherish and protect you always.” His tone was rote, almost as if he’d practiced what to say. And there was no love in his eyes, nor even desire. Merely a hard sheen and desperation that bespoke a disconnect betwixt his heart and his words.
“I am taken aback, my lord. I had no idea.” She tugged her hands from his.
He lowered his gaze to stare at his shoes. “I cry pardon! Surely I have hinted at my affections for you.”
“In good sooth, you have not, my lord.” Although he had been offering her more compliments than usual, he’d made no such indication of anything but friendship, if that. She could make no sense of this sudden change in the man.
He turned his back to her. “Begad, you must pardon me there. I have been afraid of your reaction, afraid you would not return my affections.”
A shiver of disgust ran through her at the thought of anything beyond a mere acquaintance with this man. Yet, how could she risk being tossed into the cold, heartless world?
Grabbing a strand of her hair, she tangled it betwixt two fingers. “My lord, I am flattered. But is this not rather rash? I fear I cannot at this time agree to marriage.”
His posture slumped, and he hung his head. “You wound me deeply, my lady.” Releasing a deep sigh, he faced her. A harshness had taken over his expression. “Tell me then, where are you to go? I know you run from something…or someone. Yet here you have all you need, every luxury, a home, protection, and of course, my love.” His eyes lit as if he’d just had a thought. “And the love of Thebe. What more could a lady want?”
She Walks in Love (Protectors of the Spear Book 2) Page 4