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

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Nay.” She halted. “I won’t leave without Thebe.”

  “Thebe? Bosh! Another maid who won’t join us?” But Cristiana had already gathered her skirts and was moving down the hall.

  “We haven’t time,” she heard Jarin whisper urgently behind her.

  “We will make time.” Turning a corner, she froze, then ducked back behind the wall. Lord Braewood had posted a guard in front of the little girl’s chamber as well. Smart man. She lifted a hand to her throat. The wild pump of blood racing through her veins throbbed against her fingers. Every inch of her wanted to scream out in terror. What was she doing? How could she and Thebe possibly escape with but one knight’s help?

  Jarin peered around the corner. “I suppose that to be Thebe’s chamber?” Then moving far too close to Cristiana, he gazed down at her and raised one brow. She lowered her eyes from his disarming look of censure and stared instead at the leather doublet stretching across his wide chest. The man smelled of horseflesh, leather, and spice, and she didn’t know whether to fall into those strong arms and beg him or push him back and rescue Thebe herself, as she longed to do. But bravery was not her forte. ’Twas her sister’s realm of expertise.

  “I won’t leave without her,” she said with a conviction that seemed lacking in her tone.

  He gripped her shoulders, glanced back at Thebe’s door, then uttered a low growl. “Stay here.”

  Releasing her, he sauntered down the hall as if he were lord of the manor. The knight looked up and stared at him suspiciously. “What brings you here?”

  “I’ve been sent to relieve you. Onward to your cups and your sleep.” He slapped the man on the back. “You’ve earned it.”

  The knight widened his stance. “And who precisely are you, sir?”

  “As I said, your replacement.” Jarin smiled.

  “I’ve been told of no such orders.” The knight stared straight ahead. “And I’ve never met you before.”

  Jarin ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I was afraid of that.” In a move too fast to see, he slammed his elbow across the man’s chin. The knight stumbled to the right, and before he could gain his balance, Jarin grabbed him from behind, pressed an arm around his neck and squeezed.

  The poor knight clutched Jarin’s arm, gasping and choking, his face turning red. He attempted to kick his feet behind him, but with every thrust, Jarin leapt out of his reach.

  Cristiana held her breath, unsure of whether to be enthralled or terrified.

  Finally, the knight folded like a piece of parchment—a rather large piece of parchment—and crumpled to the floor.

  Creeping out from hiding, Cristiana glanced down at the fallen knight. “I suppose he will live as well?” She tried to smile but her tight nerves forbade the action.

  Jarin winked at her and opened the door.

  “Thebe!” Spotting the child, she knelt with open arms, and the babe flew into them.

  “A child?” Jarin spat out.

  “Indeed.” Ignoring his look of alarm, she entered the chamber, gathered clothes for the little girl, along with her favorite doll, and stuffed them in her bag. Then hoisting Thebe in her arms, she started out the door.

  No further protests came from Sir Jarin, save for an occasional moan of displeasure as together they flew down the stairs, doing their best not to awaken anyone. Naught could be done about the servants bringing in fresh reeds for the main hall floor and stirring the coals of the massive hearth.

  Some stared at them and gasped as they passed, and Cristiana knew they would soon alert Lord Braewood.

  “Make haste,” she all but screeched. Terror threatened to turn her about, to take Thebe back to the safety of her chamber and scatter all thoughts about ever escaping.

  “As I’ve been saying, my lady,” came Jarin’s sarcastic response. He led her out into the bailey where the main gate stood open, allowing several servants to exit for their daily work. Two fully-armed knights stood on either side.

  Until now, she hadn’t considered what Sir Jarin’s plan might be. Surely he didn’t expect to stroll out of Braewood Hall without being stopped. Nay. He led them to the stables.

  “Horsey ride?” Thebe said.

  “Nay, dear one. Shh, now.” They ducked into the barn just as a shout echoed over the courtyard. “Find them immediately!”

  ’Twas Lord Braewood’s voice, and it was quickly followed by the captain of the guard braying further orders for the knights to search every inch of the castle grounds.

  Chapter 7

  Jarin had been trained by the best knights of the realm, those assigned to protect the king himself. He was proficient in all manner of weaponry—sword, dagger, mace, flail, pole axe, battle axe, and lance. He could fight and defeat five well-armed warriors on land as well as ride a destrier bareback with no hands while dispatching enemies on both sides. He’d also been taught to make quick decisions in the heat of battle. Yet for some reason, being outnumbered and hunted inside enemy walls with a woman and child to protect caused his wits to abandon him.

  The thump of soldiers’ boots, along with further shouts to find the traitors and Cristiana’s terrified gasp as she held the little girl close, prompted him to put aside his emotions and do what he’d been trained to do.

  Defeat his enemy at all cost.

  “’Twill be all right, my lady. Never fear.” He grabbed the sack of clothing he’d shed earlier and hastily led her and the babe to one of twenty horse stalls, most of them still filled so early in the morning. This particular one housed an old mare.

  The stable boy ran up, fear pinching his youthful features. “Sir, they search for you.” His wild eyes darted to the door where a group of guards stood ready to enter.

  Cristiana tightened beneath Jarin’s grasp, but he’d already paid the lad handsomely for his silence.

  “Should they discover I have aided you,” the boy continued, “’twill be my head. I pray, leave at once, sir.”

  “They won’t discover anything,” Jarin said with as much confidence as he could muster. “I will hide the lady and child and return forthwith. No one will be the wiser.” He urged a trembling Cristiana and child inside the stall, ignoring the mare’s snort of complaint, and sat them against the front fencing. The lad shook his head and darted away just as several soldiers swung open the wide doors and marched into the stable.

  Tugging his old torn cloak from his sack, Jarin flung it over his shoulders, and left the stall, instantly perfecting a hunch and hobble that would fool royalty. Yet even as he made his way toward the back door, his mind reeled with too many unknowns. Would the stable boy hold his tongue? Would the guards do more than peer into the mare’s stall? Would Cristiana give herself away with a shriek? Or worse, the babe make a sound? If they were to get out of this alive, ’twould be God’s doing and His alone. And though Jarin no longer believed God heard his prayers, he whispered a quick request withal.

  Before he was noticed, he pushed open the back door of the stables and entered a paddock. There stood the old wagon he remembered from the night past that had contained barrels of ale—barrels he hoped were empty now and could hold a person. However, now a large cloth covered the wagon’s contents from which a foul stink pinched Jarin’s nose.

  A bald man dressed in a woolen tunic with a rope belt about his waist stood tightening the harnesses on the wagon’s horse. He looked up at the shouts and rustle of hay coming from the stables, and his eyes latched upon Jarin. He studied him for a moment, his one good eye registering the oddity of a peasant’s cloak worn over knight’s garb. And for a second, Jarin thought he would shout and give him away. Instead the man approached him, a smile revealing a row of yellowed crooked teeth.

  “Pray, good sir, what is in your wagon?” Jarin asked.

  The aged man lifted the cloth, revealing a dozen rotting deer carcasses, swarming with flies.

  Coughing, Jarin backed away.

  The man dropped the cloth, seemingly unaffected by the odor. “’Tis been a good ye
ar for huntin’, sir, an’ these deer were rotted ere the cook could roast em.”

  “Search aloft!” A shout blared over them from behind. “Find them or ’twill be your heads!”

  A strange idea crept through Jarin’s mind. “Where are you taking them?”

  “To the village. Many people there are hungry ’nough to eat even these.” He rubbed his one eye that had been stitched closed.

  Jarin repressed a growl. No doubt ’twas Lord Braewood’s generous way to feed the people in his village. He reached inside his doublet, pulled out a leather pouch, and dumped the coins in his hand.

  The gold glittered in the man’s eye.

  “These are yours, good sir, if you sell me your wagon and the deer inside it.”

  The man drew a hand over his mouth to wipe the drool. “I could buy ten wagons wit’ those coins. Gramercy to ye, good sire. May God reward ye.”

  Jarin returned the coins to the pouch and handed it to the man. “I pray He will. Now, if you’ll allow, I have but one more request.”

  ♥♥♥

  Cristiana could not remember a time in her life when she’d been so afraid. Not even when her sister was nigh to being burned at the stake, God forgive her. Alas, she’d been kept in a drugged stupor at the time, which no doubt aided her lack of fear. Now, however, she was in full use of her mind and in full care of the precious babe in her arms. The first one she was glad of—almost—but the second one terrified her. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes, and began counting, thinking of a time and place where she felt the safest. One…two…three… Sitting beneath a mound of hay in a horse stall whilst Lord Braewood’s guards searched the stables, poking lances through wood, hay, and stubble, was not one of them. One peep from the child would no doubt bring a sharp blade down upon them both. Or mayhap the silly mare would give them away. She kept lowering her massive head toward them, chomping the hay that Sir Jarin had piled around them, fixing her large brown eye upon them as if she’d been assigned to guard them. Cristiana had never realized horses had such lustrous eyelashes, for this particular mare’s would be the envy of every lady at court.

  Thebe was delighted, of course, and the only way Cristiana could keep her silent was by allowing her to pet the horse’s face.

  Four…five…six… Cristiana continued to count, searching for that safe memory that would provide shelter from her fears, but it seemed to elude her. She drew a deep breath, instantly regretting it when the sharp smell of horse dung filled her lungs. Seven…eight…

  Men approached. She could hear them open the empty stall beside hers and kick hay about with their boots.

  “’Tis no job for a soldier, treading amidst horse manure,” one of them said.

  Another laughed from across the way. “I’ll grant you that. I doubt such a fine lady would hide in such filth.”

  Holding her breath, Cristiana tightened her grip on Thebe and prayed for God to keep them hidden. The man stopped before their stall. The mare raised her head to look at him. Cristiana backed against the wood, feeling his eyes scanning the area. Thebe reached for the mare, but Cristiana pulled back her hand. Thankfully, the girl did not cry out. Seconds passed like hours. The horse snorted and pawed the ground. Finally, the man grunted and stomped away.

  “They aren’t here! Away! Let’s join the others. Milo, check out back and meet us forthwith.”

  A man yelled from the distance. “I just looked there. Naught but an old man and his wagon.”

  Footsteps retreated. Cristiana dared to breathe again, though she doubted her heart would ever return to a normal beat.

  “Horsey,” Thebe cooed, reaching for the mare once again.

  Another set of boots approached. Had they returned? Cristiana recovered the little girl’s hand, but she had already let out a giggle as the mare brushed her face against hers.

  The boots stopped at their stall. Cristiana prepared herself to be arrested, dragged back to her chamber, where she’d be punished and kept a prisoner forever. And lose Thebe. She hugged the child close.

  The door creaked open. The mare retreated.

  And Sir Jarin, attired once again as a peasant, stepped within. He offered his hand and a smile of confidence that caused her to take it and long to trust this knight.

  “Make haste, my lady.” He ushered them out the back of the stable where she nearly fell over from the smell arising from a cloth-covered wagon.

  “My apologies,” he offered.

  She was about to ask him for what when he lifted the cloth and pointed to a small section just beneath the seat of the wagon. ’Twas barely the length of a small person and the width of a child, and in front of it lay the rotting carcasses of a dozen deer. Thebe whimpered and buried her head in Cristiana’s neck. “You wish us to hide in there?”

  “Indeed, and quickly. ’Tis the only way.”

  By the time Jarin had snapped the reins and the wagon began to move, Cristiana had finally been able to silence Thebe’s crying. If the sight of the dead deer hadn’t been enough to upset the poor child and the smell rank enough to make the staunchest warrior gasp for air, crawling in amongst them had sent the girl into a fit of tears. Hence, Cristiana had retrieved Thebe’s doll from the bag, and the child now held it fast to her chest, thumb in her mouth, and her face to the wood at the front of the wagon. A thin layer of stained cloth covered Cristiana’s back—the only thing between her and the putrid carcass of a deer, a good portion of which Sir Jarin had laid on top of her. He’d also covered them with hay once again, which itched and scratched and intruded upon eyes, nose and mouth. Only this time the sharp stench stung her eyes and caused tears to fill them. Or was that merely her terror?

  The wagon rumbled on, turning the corner of the stable and heading toward the gate. Jarin hummed a tune from his seat above them. He’d donned his disguise from the night past, and she wondered if he was afraid of being caught, for his punishment would be far more severe than hers. She immediately dismissed the notion. He was a member of the elite King’s Guard. No doubt he’d been involved in far more dangerous intrigues. No doubt he would effect their escape with nary a problem at all.

  With that assurance firmly planted in her mind, Cristiana’s nerves dared to loosen a bit… when a shout echoed through the cloth, the deer, the hay and straight into her heart.

  “You there!”

  ♥♥♥

  No sooner did Jarin turn the corner from the stables than he saw the gates closing.

  “Halt there!” he shouted across the bailey. The guards looked up, and he shrugged as if to beg their forgiveness for his tardiness.

  One of them called to the man in the guardroom above. “You there! Cease!” The crank and chink of the winch used to lower the gate silenced, and the guard motioned him through.

  “You’re late. Make haste, old man!” He continued his conversation with a knight standing beside him, barely affording Jarin another glance as Jarin snapped the reins and proceeded beneath the iron spikes of the first portcullis. The second one had stopped just above the top of his head. Halfway there, halfway to freedom…halfway to—

  “Halt!” Rang out from behind him.

  Jarin yanked back the reins, knowing full well they could lower the second portcullis too quickly for him to charge forward.

  The captain of the guard stormed toward him, holding a hand over his nose the closer he came. “You’re not the same villager who collects these deer.”

  “Nay,” Jarin said. “’E’s ill. Got the plague, they say.”

  This seemed to set the man aback for he retreated a step and tried to peer beneath Jarin’s hood. “Show your face, man.”

  Jarin lifted the fabric just enough to reveal the red hue of deer’s blood he’d smeared beneath his eyes and the pallor of his skin, formed from white powder he’d brought with him.

  The man backed away further, stopping halfway down the wagon. He lifted the cloth, his nose wrinkling. “We search for a woman and a child. Have you seen them?”

  Jarin shoo
k his head and feigned a bout of coughing. “Nay, sir. Just deer and horses.”

  He broke into a cough again, and the man backed away. “Leave us, you and your rotted meat.”

  Jarin nodded, snapped the reins, and the wagon rumbled through the second portcullis and down the muddy pathway that descended into a valley dotted with forest and farms.

  When they were well out of hearing range, he spoke up. “Are you quite well, my lady?”

  After several worrisome seconds, she replied. “We are alive, Sir Jarin. But barely.”

  “’Twill be but a few more minutes ere we can stop and find safety.”

  As if to defy his statement, the sound of numerous horses’ hooves striking the hard ground thundered over them. In the distance, a band of war horses, armored in steel and leather, emerged from a copse of trees like angry bees from a disturbed hive.

  Jarin’s heart tightened. Sweat rolled down his forehead. Still, he kept a slow pace and his head down. His thoughts shifted to a miracle he still had trouble believing—a time when he, his fellow knights and Lady Alexia D’Clere had been surrounded by overwhelming forces. She had prayed and somehow God had made them invisible. “My lady, if you have the Spear, pray, I beg you. Pray hard,” he managed to say just as the men leading the band halted their horses beside the wagon.

  “You there. Is this Braewood Castle?” a man attired in the field armor of a knight shouted from his horse.

  Jarin peered out from beneath his hood, enough to see the heraldry of Luxley Castle on his shield and to know the voice of Sir DeGay, the captain of the guard. More horsemen halted behind them, one of them carrying the purple and blue standard of Bishop Montruse.

  How had they found Lady Cristiana so quickly? Bosh! They would recognize Jarin. Kill him on the spot and drag Cristiana back to Luxley. Terror began to strangle every nerve, but he forced it away through years of practice on the battlefield. “Aye, it is,” he answered as disinterested as he could.