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

by Marylu Tyndall

  He must have dozed off, for sometime in the middle of the night, a woman’s shriek woke him. Rubbing his eyes to clear his vision, he found Cristiana tossing about on the sofa as if she were a ship at sea. Whimpers and gasps spilled from her lips. He knelt before her and took one of her hands in his.

  “Softly now, my cosset,” he whispered. “Softly. All is well.” He stroked her hand until she settled back to sleep, then released her and stood, lest he do what he longed to do and place a kiss on her cheek—that cheek that looked as soft as a rose petal.

  Backing away, he glanced toward the high, stained-glass windows where the barest hint of gray shoved aside the night. He’d done his duty. He’d fulfilled his promise. Ergo, he cast one last glance at her and the babe and headed out the door.

  Chapter 13

  The first thing Cristiana saw when she pried open her eyes were the wooden beams stretching across the arched ceiling. Alarm squeezed her heart. ’Twas not the stone walls of her chamber at Braewood Castle. Nor did she hear Muriel entering to rouse her and help her dress.

  Breath clambering up her throat, she sprang to sit, only then recognizing the receiving hall of the abbot’s residence. The bluish glow of predawn crept through high colored windows, slinked over the wooden floor, wool rugs, and modest furniture, then eased up the stone wall to her right and landed on a tapestry hanging on the wall. ’Twas a picture of Christ surrounded by children, his hand on the head of a young boy, whilst a little girl sat in his lap. His face glowed with an affection she wouldn’t have guessed He’d borne toward children, who by society’s measure were naught but nuisances. Snapping her gaze from the picture, she glanced at Thebe, still snuggled under her quilt on the couch.

  Cristiana breathed out a sigh as young monks entered the room, carrying platters of fruit and cheese and pitchers of what must be water or ale. Suddenly embarrassed, she flung off her blanket and stood, doing her best to press out the folds of her tunic.

  Where was Sir Jarin? Had he retired to his chamber and left them here alone? Nay. She lifted her hand and rubbed it, remembering his touch, the gentle way he caressed her fingers, the whispered words of comfort.

  She’d had a nightmare!

  Aye, she remembered it now. Lowering to sit beside Thebe, she moved a curl from the girl’s face. A terrible dream. A hand had slowly risen from beneath her blanket, curled in a fist at first. But the fingers became snakes, slithering and wiggling, their white fangs filling her vision—six of them, not five. They closed in on her neck and squeezed. The feel of their cold, slimy skin sent a chill over her even now. She hadn’t been able to breathe. Or even move. Laughter had risen in the distance, the most hideous laughter—like the screech of a thousand swords rubbing together. Gasping for air, she‘d attempted to pry the snakes from her throat and glanced up to see Alexia, Ronar, Seraphina, and Jarin turn and walk away.

  A tremble ran through her even now. Thebe’s “Cristi” aided her to shake it off and face the child with a smile. “Yes, darling.” She drew her from beneath the quilt onto her lap.

  “Horsey ride?”

  “Mayhap.” She pressed the child against her bosom and uttered a prayer for her safety. God may have abandoned Cristiana long ago, but surely if that tapestry were true, He would not abandon this innocent child.

  The crippled boy from last eve hobbled up to them and smiled. “My lady, I am to escort you to your chamber to ready yourself for your journey.”

  Hair as black as the night surrounded a face where nary a whisker yet dare appear. Though he attempted a somber expression, playful innocence shone from his blue eyes.

  “Very well.” Returning his smile, she stood and hoisted Thebe in her arms and followed him out the door and into the courtyard.

  Fresh, crisp air filled with the sweet scent of rain and pine battled against the odor of horse flesh and dung. No torches were needed, for the faint glow of dawn pushed back the night and stole the shimmer from stars above. Shivering against the chill, she drew Thebe close and listened for any sound of the army waiting outside the walls, but heard naught. She could only hope they’d left, but good fortune such as that rarely befriended her. Mud clung to her shoes, and she wondered how the lad was able to drag his one foot through the sludge without toppling over. But he managed well enough and halted at the stairway outside the stables.

  Up in her chamber, she relieved herself, changed Thebe’s soiled cloth, and donned her now-dry attire. On the way back, against all propriety, she knocked on Sir Jarin’s door. Was the man so lazy as to still be abed? No answer came, nor any sound at all.

  Sudden fear threatened to drain all strength from her legs. Leaning against the wooden wall, she steadied her breathing and attempted a smile for Thebe’s sake. Had Sir Jarin abandoned them in the night? Her mind and heart awhirl, she descended the steps and allowed the lad to escort her back to the abbot’s where a meal to break their fast had been placed atop the table.

  “Have you seen Sir Jarin?” she asked the boy, but he shook his head and gestured for them to sit and eat.

  Setting Thebe on the bench, she plucked a pear from a platter and handed it to her. Fresh ale, along with bread and cheese made up the rest of the meal, but Cristiana’s stomach was tied in a knot at the prospect of being all alone once again.

  She glanced at the lad who remained standing nearby. “Surely you are tired, Brother…”

  “Jeffrey.”

  “Brother Jeffrey. You have been awake all night.” She tried to study his foot but could see naught beneath the hem of his robe.

  “I am to remain at your side until Brother Mikon relieves me, my lady.”

  Grabbing a lock of her hair, she twirled it around her finger, debating her next move. Something deep within her stirred at this boy’s misfortune. “May I pray for your foot, Brother Jeffrey?”

  At first, he remained standing, staring straight ahead, unmoving save the slight opening of his mouth. Then slowly, he turned to face her. “Gramercy, my lady, but Father Godwin and several of my brothers have already done so.”

  “Then what harm could it do?”

  A hint of a smile graced his lips, curiosity filled his eyes, eyes that now took her in as if she were some sort of oddity.

  “Surely you believe God can heal?” She raised a brow. “Didn’t our Lord heal many when He was here?”

  “Aye, my lady, but some of us must bear our burdens with grace.”

  Pain stole the life from his eyes, draining them of their youth, and an instant, overwhelming love for this young lad consumed Cristiana. ’Twas not her own love, for she was not capable of such prodigious empathy. It emanated from the Spear safely bound to her thigh.

  “May I touch your foot?” Kneeling, she moved her hand toward him, though she knew ’twas much to ask of a monk.

  Brother Jeffrey shook his head in horror.

  “Only for a moment.”

  He hesitated, searching her eyes, but finally gave a little nod and took a step closer.

  Placing one hand lightly on the injured foot, she bowed her head and said, “Be healed by our Lord Christ Jesus and the power of His blood.”

  As she had so many times before, she felt the muscle and bone moving beneath her touch. Joy filled her as she retrieved her hand and rose before him. “You are healed, Brother Jeffrey. Test and see.”

  He stared in wonder at her for a moment ere he slowly, fearfully, leaned his weight on his foot. When he did, his eyes snapped wide, his mouth hung open, and a look of shock and utter glee beamed from his face. Still staring at her, he tested it again, then began hopping on the healed foot, laughing. “How did you…? What marvel is this?”

  Cristiana clasped her hands together in joy. “I did naught. ’Twas Christ who healed you.”

  “Praise be to God! Praise be to God!”

  The other monks and servants in the room stared his way. A few ran up to him.

  “I am healed!” He showed them his foot as he leapt and ran, whilst each gazed at him in disbelief.


  Which always astounded Cristiana. From what she knew of the Holy Scriptures, Jesus had healed many people and proclaimed His servants would do the same. Yet so few believed Him.

  Brother Peter entered the room, saw Jeffrey surrounded by a crowd of monks, and headed their way.

  “Cristi, more food?” Thebe said, drawing Cristiana’s gaze to the precious child, who had chunks of pear over her face and gown. Smiling, she knelt beside her, grabbed a cloth from the table, and cleaned her up as best she could.

  “Mayhap something less messy.” She broke off two pieces of bread, popped one in her mouth and gave the other to the girl, then poured water into a glass and held it to Thebe’s lips.

  “Forgive my tardiness, Lady Cristiana. I trust you slept well.” Brother Peter’s voice jerked her around.

  “We did. Thank you.” Ignoring the bewildered look on his face, she asked, “Have you seen Sir Jarin this morn?” Merely asking the question caused her fear to return.

  Brother Peter cast a glance over his shoulder at Jeffrey, who had not ceased walking and running through the room. “What? Did you…? Brother Jeffrey says you healed him.”

  “God healed him,” Cristiana offered. “Prithee, tell me of Sir Jarin.”

  He started to sit, but instead remained standing, still looking perplexed. “I have not seen Jarin. Father Godwin will be here anon. I am sure he knows the knight’s whereabouts.”

  She might as well have swallowed a boulder, for her bread landed with a thunk in her stomach. Unable to hide her emotion and not wanting to upset Thebe, she rose, set down the glass, and moved to stand facing the wall to her right.

  Brother Peter appeared beside her. “You believe the knight has left you?”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” What a fool she was. His soft words and caresses last eve were no doubt farewells, laden with guilt. “We are mere acquaintances, naught more. And surely a warrior such as he could slip out of the abbey unnoticed, whereas with a woman and child, his chances—all our chances—are nigh impossible.”

  “You have a point, I’ll grant you, but I’ve known Jarin for years. He is not one to run from a fight. No matter the cost.”

  She had been of the same mind. “Mayhap this time the cost was too high.” As it had been for her sister. And Seraphina. And if she admitted it, she blamed her mother and father for leaving her as well. Why had her father gone off to war? Why had her mother trusted Sir Walter with her life? Foolish choices made with nary a thought toward the children in their charge.

  Brother Peter moved to stand in front of her, meeting her gaze with a pointed one that bespoke a wisdom well past his years. “Even should Sir Jarin disappoint you, Lady Cristiana, God never will. Do not think you are alone for one moment.”

  She held back her bitter laugh, forced away tears, and squared her shoulders. “Thank you, Brother Peter, but ’tis for that very reason God has disappointed me most of all. It cost him nothing to remain at my side.”

  Instead of shock, instead of a string of sanctimonious castigations, Brother Peter merely smiled. “I disagree. It cost Him everything.”

  “Then where is He? Why has my life been fraught with despair and tragedy? Why does He never answer my prayers?” She batted away a tear and lowered her gaze.

  “My lady, it may appear that our loving Father has left you, but I give you my troth, He has not. His Word promises He never will. You have only to seek Him with all your heart.”

  Before she could offer a retort she would need to repent of later, a voice—a wonderful rich voice—turned her face to the door.

  In walked Father Godwin with Sir Jarin by his side. He’d donned his normal attire, complete with leather doublet, tall boots, and myriad of weapons, and against her will, her traitorous heart leapt in her chest.

  Brother Jeffrey ran up to them, gesturing to his foot, then pointing at her. Sir Jarin’s eyes met hers from across the room, an undiscernible look within them.

  Father Godwin rejoiced with the lad, then dismissed him, and the two men headed her way as Brother Peter gave her a knowing nod and left.

  “I knew God’s power rested on you,” Father Godwin said as he approached, his eyes filled with kindness and wonder. “We’ve been praying for Brother Jeffrey since he arrived last year.”

  She only smiled, for she dared not tell him the truth. She’d seen the greed and bloodshed that occurred when people learned of the Spear. Jarin’s knowing look told her she’d made the right choice. In good sooth, she could hardly look away from him, longing to touch him and ensure he was real. But of course he was. Her heart would not be pounding thus were he not standing so close.

  Father Godwin glanced at Thebe. “I wish to know more, but time is of the essence. I have packed some food for your journey.” He handed a sack to Jarin. “You must quit this place posthaste, for the soldiers will enter Tegimen any moment.”

  How he knew that, she could not fathom, but the words prompted her to collect Thebe in her arms, grab her own sack, and follow Father Godwin and Jarin from the room.

  Chapter 14

  Ushering Lady Cristiana and the babe before him, Jarin followed Father Godwin into a small courtyard and past the chapel and cemetery. Monks, faces lowered beneath cowls, moved about in the morning mist curling around their feet, seemingly hovering above ground as they prepared for their morning prayers.

  Lady Cristiana had healed Brother Jeffrey’s malformed foot!

  The fact kept slipping into Jarin’s thoughts, though he’d rather focus on the task at hand—an impossible task, that. Escaping a band of well-trained soldiers who had them surrounded.

  Yet…she had healed the boy. When no other prayers had worked. Not even Father Godwin’s.

  Jarin had seen too much to doubt the power of this Spear of Christ. But ’twas the love and care of its present owner that had him baffled. Lord Braewood had forced her to heal. This she’d done of her own will. Regardless of the perilous circumstances in which she found herself, she thought of others, strangers even, wanting to help, heal, and restore, qualities which belied everything he believed about women of title. About most women.

  Yet Cristiana differed in many ways from other privileged women he’d met. Which may have been what attracted him in the first place. She surprised him, confounded him, and even astounded him, as in the look she’d given him when he’d entered the hall with Father Godwin. A look of surprise and delight that nearly sent him running to her side.

  He ran to no lady’s side. In good sooth, they usually ran to him.

  Tiny droplets of mist created a shimmer over her hair as she walked in front of him, making her look like some heavenly creature who dared to walk amongst mere mortals. However, despite her angelic appearance, he could feel her fear trailing in the wake of her sweet fragrance.

  Yet how could he comfort her when he had no assurance they would escape unscathed?

  Wide-eyed, the babe stared at him over her shoulder, bouncing up and down with the lady’s movements. Egad, but the wee one was a sweet slice of heaven. If there was such a place.

  They passed the kitchen where pots and pans rattled, and the scent of oatmeal and eggs rose to lure a growl from Jarin’s stomach.

  Diving into a building on the side, Father Godwin grabbed a lit torch and immediately descended a stairway to the wine cellar. A chilled mustiness cloaked Jarin, and he smiled. How many hours had he and Brother Quinn spent down here drinking wine when they should have been at evening services? Too many to count.

  Godwin pushed against a tall wooden rack laden with corked bottles.

  “Here, help me, Jarin.”

  Together they shoved it aside, and Godwin retrieved a large blade from the rack and pried open one of the wooden planks lining the wall. Dank, icy air smelling of moss, dirt, and age, blasted over them.

  Lady Cristiana coughed.

  Father Godwin held the torch up to see Jarin’s face. Sorrow lingered within his tender smile. “Make haste to Sancreet village, a stone’s throw east from here.
Find the spice monger’s shop. Ask for Master Teagan, and tell him I sent you for Challenger. He’s a sturdy palfrey.”

  Jarin shook his head. “I cannot take your horse.”

  “And I cannot smuggle a knight’s warhorse out of Tegimen.” The abbot smiled. “Besides, ’twill give you an excuse to return and see us again. Collect him when you are done with whate’er war you now wage.” He waved a hand through the air and shook his head.

  Jarin nodded. One horse for the three of them. ’Twould be difficult but better than going on foot. “You have always been…”—Jarin’s throat closed as he looked at his friend. In truth he’d been a father to Jarin, the best father any man could want. “Thank you for your help.”

  “You are always welcome here. And you, my lady.” Godwin turned to Lady Cristiana.

  With hands full, she dipped her head. “Thank you, Abbot.”

  “Take care of this precious child.” He made the sign of the cross on Thebe’s forehead and kissed her.

  The little girl giggled.

  Father Godwin gestured toward the tunnel entrance. “’Tis narrow and low. You may have to crawl in some spots. Oh.” He gripped Jarin’s arm. “Should you need help on your journey, Brother Quinn, I mean, Lord Quinn resides now in Savoy village. I know he’d like to see you again.”

  Lord Quinn? Jarin nodded. Quinn and he had been the best of friends once. He gripped Father Godwin’s arms and thanked him again ere he turned to Lady Cristiana.

  “I’ll carry the girl.” He held out his hands, but the babe ducked her head into Lady Cristiana’s neck.

  “She doesn’t know you yet, Sir Jarin. And she’s been through much this past day. I’ll manage.”

  “My son.” The abbot’s urgent tone drew Jarin’s gaze. “The answers you seek are not of this world. You must seek beyond it for the truth.”