Jarin had no response, nor did he want his parting words to be harsh. Hence, he merely nodded and dove into the tunnel. The abbot had been right about it being narrow and low, for most of it was only large enough to crawl through. Behind him, he could hear Lady Cristiana’s moans as she struggled to keep up.
With no torch to guide the way, Jarin could only lumber along, sometimes crawling, sometimes inching forward on his haunches, a few sections nearly standing. Of a sudden, his hands struck a wall of dirt. The end of the tunnel.
Lady Cristiana bumped into him. Her breathing heightened.
He felt above. His fingers touched wood, and he shoved the plank upward and set it aside. Light blinded him for a moment ere he gripped the edge and hefted himself up, setting his pack aside. ’Twas a narrow cave, or rather, as his eyes adjusted, a cleft between two large rocks that met overhead like lovers in a kiss.
When he’d asked Father Godwin about the tunnel, he had simply replied with a twinkle in his eye, “Even monks need a way of escape from time to time.”
The babe appeared in the hole. Grabbing her, he set her down next to him, then after retrieving Cristiana’s sack, he helped her up as well. She clung to his upper arms as he hoisted her…mayhap a bit too quickly, for she landed in his lap. Her breath, sweet and hot, wafted over him as their eyes met just inches apart. He was a rogue of the worst kind, for he longed to take liberties and kiss her right there. And if he was right, from the look in those lustrous brown eyes of hers, she wanted the same.
He lowered his gaze to her lips and licked his own.
She inhaled a sharp breath and struggled for release.
“How dare you!” Leaping from him, she scooted back on all fours as if he had the plague, then struggled to rise.
The sound of leaves crunching halted her. A male voice echoed through the heavy air, followed by another, and then a chuckle. She bit her lip, eyes wide, and glanced over the tiny space formed by the barricade of boulders. Horror screamed from her face as she whispered, “Where’s Thebe?”
♥♥♥
Cristiana’s heartbeat had finally begun to settle from Jarin’s near kiss only to vault again when she realized Thebe was missing. No time to berate Jarin for his lack of attention, for she’d been just as consumed in the moment as he. Opening her mouth to call for the child, she dashed for the only gap in the rocks large enough to squeeze through, desperation and fear blinding her to all else.
Especially to Sir Jarin who leapt in her path.
A firm hand pressed over her mouth ere she could utter a word. She struggled in his grip.
“If you wish the child to live,” he whispered in her ear, “be still.”
Male voices resounded through the forest again. Closer, it seemed. Of course Sir Jarin was right, but how could she stand there and do naught?
Slowly, he released her and removed his hand. She pushed past him, squeezed through the opening, and emerged into a forest lush with moss-covered trunks and boulders and a bed of ferns covering the ground. Morning mist drifted among the trees allowing only sparse beams of golden sunlight to enter. No sign of a child.
A chill scraped over her.
She wanted to yell, to scream, to run about in a wild search, but Jarin emerged behind her, drew his blade and bade her to remain calm. “We will find her,” he said with a confidence that surely came from being an elite King’s Guard and had naught to do with the truth of their present situation.
The male voices increased. “I hope we catch the wench soon. I could use some good ale to wet my lips,” one of them said.
“Aye, I’ll agree with that,” the other replied.
Cristiana’s world twisted in a mirage of greens and browns. Forsooth, she could hear her own heartbeat, feel the mad rush of blood through her veins. Thebe, oh, Thebe! Grabbing her skirts, she charged forward.
Sir Jarin appeared beside her, took her hand and pressed a finger to his lips. A world of assurance drifted across his eyes, and she could see why men followed him into war.
A child’s laughter bubbled through the forest like a butterfly flitting from branch to branch.
Cristiana started in that direction, trying to free herself from Jarin’s grip, but it remained firm. Yanking her beside him, he proceeded toward the sound…excruciatingly…excruciatingly slow.
Thebe! At least she was alive!
Rounding the large trunk of a tree, Sir Jarin shoved aside a wall of ferns nearly as tall as she and approached the edge of a small clearing. A creek slid across the moss-laden ground like a silver snake, and Thebe sat by its edge, dipping her hand in the water and giggling as it rushed over her skin.
Thank God! Cristiana released a breath and started toward her, but Sir Jarin shoved her behind him so forcefully she dared not move. His entire body stiffened like the trunks of one of the mighty trees around them. Even his knuckles whitened where he held his sword.
The male voices grew louder.
“Did ye hear that?”
“Aye. Sounded like a child.”
Cristiana grew dizzy. Her vision blurred. She stared through the brush toward the voices when two soldiers, fully armed, marched into the clearing, heading straight for Thebe.
♥♥♥
’Twas all his fault. Jarin had put this innocent child at risk—all because of his uncontrollable passions. Now, he’d be forced to fight these two soldiers. Not that he’d have difficulty dispatching them both, but the noise of the battle could draw others to their aid. Alas, he had no choice.
Both men entered the clearing, saw the child, stood aghast for a moment, then headed toward her with sneers on their faces. Behind him, Lady Cristiana gasped and attempted to shove her way forward.
Pushing her back, Sir Jarin stepped into the clearing, blade raised, an insolent grin on his lips. “Ah-ah-ah, lay a finger on that child and meet the slice of my blade.”
Shock, followed by confusion, then anger, flashed across the soldiers’ faces as both men drew their blades in unison.
“Alas, has the great King’s Guard been reduced to nursemaid?” The larger one cast him a contemptuous look.
The other one laughed. “Should be of little effort to disarm the lightskirt then.”
Jarin grinned and cocked his head. “Come hence and find out.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the babe turn at the voices, rise to her feet, and start for him. Nay! But Lady Cristiana suddenly appeared, swept the child up in her arms, and retreated behind him again.
“’Tis the lady the bishop seeks,” the soldier said, gesturing toward her. “We’ll win a fair prize for her capture.”
With a sigh, Jarin gazed at the treetops as if bored. “I give you one last chance to retreat unscathed.”
A moment’s hesitation, a flicker of fear crossed their eyes, but the fools advanced withal.
Shrugging, Jarin met the first man’s blade with a heavy thwank that echoed through the trees. He pushed him back, then released his sword and swung it around to strike the man’s middle. He leapt out of the way just in time.
Growling like a bear, the second soldier charged, sword whirled aloft and cleaving downward. Jarin stepped to the side, spun, and clipped the man in the leg.
He shrieked as a line of red appeared on his breeches.
The first knight rushed, thrusting his blade at Jarin from left to right. But Jarin effortlessly met each thrust with a skillful parry of his own. Back and forth, high and low, each attack quelled, each swipe halted until the poor man’s breath came fast and terror appeared for the first time in his eyes.
The other soldier came at Jarin from behind, but he wheeled about just in time to clash blades in a hiss of steel. Tiring of the exchange, Jarin slammed the hilt of his sword on the side of the man’s head that bore no armor. He crumpled to the ground.
The confident sneer disappeared from the other soldier’s face as he charged Jarin once again. But Jarin met his low thrust with a counter parry and shoved him backward. The man stumbled, arms
flailing and sword waving.
Other voices resounded through the forest. More men. No time to waste. Jarin struck the soldier’s blade with his own. It flew from the man’s grip. Before he could recover, Jarin slugged him across the face, tossing him backward. His head struck a tree, and he toppled to the ground, unconscious.
But ’twas too late. Jarin spotted several soldiers making their way through the brush toward him.
Chapter 15
Though everything within Cristiana told her to run with Thebe—to get as far away from these soldiers as possible, she found herself unable to move. Unable to leave Sir Jarin, though she doubted he could overcome two such well-trained soldiers. Still, the babe…. She glanced down at Thebe, who thankfully was playing with a strand of Cristiana’s hair, unaware that her life hung in the balance. She should run, seek shelter ere these men bested Jarin. Nay! She should do something to help him! But what? She could not release Thebe again to wander off.
Lord, what do I do? Don’t abandon me now.
Alas, barely able to breathe, she remained as the two warriors advanced on Sir Jarin. Yet he stood confidently urging them on. Audacious fool! Holding Thebe tight, she closed her eyes, unable to watch. “One…two…”
The clank and chime of steel on steel sent a shiver down her. Thud, clunk! Cursing filled the air. Blades rang. More cursing. She dared open her eyes, and instead of Sir Jarin on the defensive, instead of Sir Jarin being overwhelmed, he wielded his sword in such rapid precision, she thought she must be dreaming. But nay, ’twas as real as the man himself. All strength, courage, and skill. He swung his sword this way and that, dipping low and high, warding off the soldiers’ attacks as if he were rowing a boat down a lazy river.
Hope dared peek its head inside her heart as Sir Jarin struck one of the soldiers unconscious to the dirt, then advanced on the other. But a sound—the barest hint of a sound—slinking through the forest forced hope back into hiding.
Men’s voices. Many of them.
Sir Jarin heard them too, for he quickly dispatched the other soldier and scanned the forest beyond. “Three…four…”
Leather and steel appeared in splotches through the underbrush. Helmeted heads bobbed above ferns. ’Twas too late. They’d be upon them in seconds.
“Oh, Lord.” All strength abandoned Cristiana as she dropped to her knees, clutching Thebe close. The girl wiggled to be free, but she managed to cling to her while touching the Spear on her thigh. “Protect us, Lord. Prithee, protect us! Five…six…”
“Over here. I heard something!” The thump of boots grew louder.
A puff of wind caressed her cheek, no more than a whisper, but with it came a cold moisture that left droplets atop Thebe’s hair and dampened her cloak. Cristiana drew in a breath, saturating her lungs with the mist, and glanced up to see a forest painted in white. Fog as thick as creamy pottage blanketed the scene, hiding tree, plant, and boulder. And Sir Jarin. Was he even still there?
“Be still, my lady.” His whisper came from close by. Aye, still there. She couldn’t help but smile.
Leaves rustled. Footsteps thudded. Voices, muffled in the mist, shouted. “God wot! Where did this fog hail from?”
“A most damnable thing.”
“I cannot see my hand before my face!”
“Back to the camp. Make haste!”
They were close…so close that the fog nigh two steps away stirred with their movement. Cristiana held her breath, praying Thebe would remain silent. She did. The men retreated, their footsteps and voices fading until naught but the deafening silence of the mist remained. That and the sound of Sir Jarin’s breathing.
A hand reached out of the fog and touched her arm. “Are you unharmed, my lady?”
“Aye,” she whispered. Thebe added her giggle and the word, “hand.”
“Yes, darling ’tis Sir Jarin’s hand.” Cristiana rose, and the man himself materialized out of the mist, smelling of sweat and man and pine. Moisture clung to the tips of his dark hair and the beard on his chin and jaw, but ’twas his eyes as they took her in that sent an odd rush of heat through her.
“This way. Come.” He swung an arm around her and led them carefully around the fallen soldiers, over the creek, and through a craggy web of branches and bushes. She dared not ask him how he knew the way without seeing, for he walked with the same confidence as always.
“This strange mist.” He finally spoke when they were well out of earshot of the soldiers. “It came up so suddenly.” Even as he said the words, the fog began to thin, and trees, shrubs, and even the ground they walked on emerged bit by bit.
“I prayed. I touched the Spear.” She mumbled the words, only now remembering.
“You prayed?” He took her elbow and helped her over a large rock.
“I asked God to protect us.”
“Humph,” was his only reply, and she knew he didn’t believe it any more than she did. But there was no denying what had happened. They had faced certain capture and now were safe. God had answered her prayer, but only because of the Spear. What power it possessed! No wonder the bishop desired it above all else.
Thebe wiggled in her arms, wanting to get down. “Thirsty,” she said.
“Not now, little one. Soon.” Cristiana reached in her pack and pulled out Thebe’s doll and handed it to her. Though the child weighed less than two stone, Cristiana’s back began to ache.
Though she made no complaint, Sir Jarin tugged the child from her arms before either could protest and set her atop his shoulders.
So high! She could fall. Surely the babe would be frightened. “Be care—” she began, but Thebe’s laughter cut her off as he bounced her up and down, the child’s fear of him dissipating like the mist around them.
Rays of sunlight speared through the remaining fog, winning the victory over darkness. Hence, by the time they emerged onto a dirt road, Cristiana turned her face to the full sun, soaking in its warmth.
Jarin started down the road, avoiding the muddy ruts. “Make haste, my lady. They won’t be far behind us.”
She hurried beside him, thankful to see he clung tightly to Thebe’s legs as he jostled her along. “Why? How can they know we’ve escaped?”
“I left those soldiers alive. They will regain consciousness and tell all.”
Of course. She hadn’t thought of that. Ergo, her fear returned as they proceeded down the road, glancing at every tree and shadow alongside them, looking for enemies. In fact, expecting them. Yet mayhap as long as she had the Spear, God would not abandon her.
Sancreet was a quaint little village built on the side of a hill, with a large manor house in the distance. Circular towers rose on either side of the open gate, and perched upon the grand arched entrance betwixt them was a painted statue of the king. Jarin gave the monarch a cursory glance ere he walked underneath, and she wondered if he missed being a King’s Guard and what he thought of His Majesty.
The stench of pigs, rotted meat, and urine caused Cristiana to draw a hand to her nose as the sounds of the village clambered for preeminence in her ears—shouts of laborers, cries of vendors, the thunderous chime of hammers, the cluck of chickens, a babe crying, and church bells.
Jarin pulled a man aside. “Good day to you, sir. Prithee, direct me to the spice monger’s.”
“Ah, ’tis old Teagan ye wish to see.” The man whose dark hair appeared permanently matted to his head and whose face bore more lines than the ruts across the muddy road, gestured down the street. “Turn the corner at the square, and ye can’t miss it.” He glanced up at Thebe and then over at Cristiana. “If ye be in need of lodging, sir, for ye and your family, I run the Hollow Ox Inn just down the road. Can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” Jarin nodded toward the man and proceeded.
Tossing the sack over her shoulder, Cristiana did her best to navigate through the mud, pig and horse droppings, and chickens, thankful she didn’t have Thebe to hold as well. Nay, the girl seemed quite happy atop Sir Jarin, which surprised her mo
st of all. Thebe had never taken well to strangers.
’Twas an easy task to find the spice monger’s shop, for it bore a sign out front carved with the images of herbs and flowers. Once inside, a plethora of scents assailed Cristiana, and she drew in a deep breath—lavender, caraway, cinnamon, garlic, mustard, and rosemary all combined into an overwhelming sensual delight. Though ’twas dim within the tiny front room, sunlight filtering in through the window revealed shelves filled with jars, bottles, and jugs of all shapes and sizes. A stained and divoted table stood to the right covered with dried herbs and mortars and pestles.
A man, as short as he was wide, waddled into the room, wiping his hands on a stained apron and approached them.
“Master Teagan?” Jarin took Thebe from his shoulders and handed her to Cristiana. The girl pointed to the herbs. “Flower.”
“Aye.” The man replied, his suspicious look taking in the myriad weapons strapped to Sir Jarin’s belts and baldric.
“I am Sir Jarin the Just. Father Godwin sent me for your horse, Challenger.”
The man’s bloodshot eyes assessed him yet again, until finally a spark of relief lowered the tension within them. “Aye, I remember him speaking of ye. Come on in the back.” He gestured for them to follow him past a curtain, down a hall, and through another door into a sitting parlor.
“I’ll tell my wife to put on some tea.”
“We cannot stay.” Jarin grabbed his arm, spinning him around. “Forgive my ill-manners, but we must leave posthaste.”
“Ah, you are being chased.” Nodding, he blew out a sigh and settled his hands atop his rotund belly as if his statement bore no effect on his speed.
Thebe wiggled to get down, and Cristiana lowered to one of the couches and put her on the floor. “Ere we leave, Master Teagan, may I trouble you for some water for the child?”
Sir Jarin rubbed the back of his neck and snapped an annoyed look her way.
A female voice sounded from outside the room. “Hernais, a band of soldiers just rode into town. Methinks they search for someone. Should we—” Entering the room, she halted. Her eyes—or rather one eye—glanced over Sir Jarin, Thebe, and Cristiana.
She Walks in Love (Protectors of the Spear Book 2) Page 12