“My wife, Matilda.” The man introduced the woman who was as narrow as he was broad. Wispy light hair was pulled back from a long face and hollow cheeks. One eye drifted to the right whilst the other stared at them with a mixture of horror and…spite?
Thebe waddled over to a ceramic bowl sitting atop a table and started to pick it up, but Cristiana quickly snagged it from her grasp. “Nay, darling.”
“In good sooth, I see the cause of your haste, sir,” Master Teagan said ere turning to his wife. “Get thee hither, woman. Mind the store. If the soldiers enter to search, delay them.”
“A sip of water for the babe, mistress?” Cristiana spoke up.
“We haven’t time, my lady,” Jarin said. “She can drink later.”
But the woman had already darted off, returning in minutes with a mug of water.
“Gramercy my dear woman. May God reward you for your kindness.” Taking the cup, Cristiana lifted it to Thebe’s lips and smiled when the girl gulped down its contents. “And you as well, Master Teagan.” Cristiana looked up at the man.
“Now, may we leave?” Jarin said, annoyed.
Cristiana gave him a pointed look as she handed the cup back to Mistress Teagan. She longed to ask the lady if she could pray for her eye, but dared not. ’Twould not only be most unseemly to mention it, but Sir Jarin was right. Time was of the essence.
“Allow me to show you to Challenger. This way.” Master Teagan started out the door, but his wife drew him to the side and down the corridor toward the front.
“No doubt they would pay handsomely for them, and ye know we need the coin.” Her words, meant only for her husband, made their way to Cristiana’s ears, withal. And Jarin’s as well, for his jaw tightened and he gestured for her to grab Thebe and rise.
“God’s truth, what ails you, woman?” Master Teagan spat back in a hissed tone. “Get thee hence and do what I say. These are friends of Father Godwin.”
The man reappeared, a tight smile on his lips, and led them through a door into a small fenced yard where a stable housed two horses. He dragged one of them—a pale palfrey that had seen better days—out into the yard and, with Sir Jarin’s help, made quick work of saddling it and strapping on bridle and reins. Then after tying on their packs, Jarin lifted Cristiana and Thebe onto the saddle and swung up behind them.
He grabbed the reins just as the sound of Mistress Teagan’s voice blared from inside the shop. “Back here, sirs! Make haste!”
Master Teagan growled. “Ah, that woman! Go now! Take the path behind the market square. ’Twill lead you to a back gate. Make haste!” He slammed his palm onto the horse’s rump, and Challenger bolted forward.
Cristiana slammed against Jarin’s chest and tightened her grip on Thebe just as shouts peppered them from behind.
“There they are. After them at once!”
Chapter 16
Alexia rapped the secret knock on the door to the underground hideout of the Knights of the Eternal realm. Friar Josef opened it, and she pushed past him with a smile. In truth, it had been her home for the past ten years. Removing her bow and quiver, she set them on the table as Ronar and Damien entered behind her.
Seraphina rose from a chair, her eyes searching out Damien, and a noticeable breath escaped her at the sight of him.
“Judas!” Damien spat. “We were nearly caught.” He made his way to the fireplace and planted his boot on the hearth.
“But we were not, Damien.” Ronar poured two glasses of water from a jug on the sideboard and handed one to Alexia with a wink.
Taking it, she smiled at her intended and took a sip. “Come, Damien, surely you jest. After all that occurred, can you not see God’s hand of protection upon us?”
Friar Josef gripped the cross hanging around his neck. “Indeed, my dear one. ’Tis why Seraphina and I have been in deep prayer the entire time you were gone.”
Ronar plopped into a cushioned chair and raked back his hair. “Alas, we needed it, Friar. In good sooth, you would not believe what happened, even should you have seen it yourself.”
“’Twas naught but trickery.” Damien turned from the fire and went to pour himself some wine.
Seraphina took a step forward, her blue eyes flitting between all of them. “I saw it.”
Setting down her glass, Alexia lowered to sit beside Ronar. She knew the maid had a gift, though the exact nature of it, she could not name. Yet ofttimes Seraphina knew events that had not yet happened and things about others no one had ever told her.
“What did you see?” Alexia asked.
Damien finished a glass of wine and poured another ere turning to face her.
“I saw a wall, a large wall blocking your way.”
Ronar stared at her, blinking, then shook his head as if trying to scatter the words elsewhere.
Damien growled and halted once again before the fire.
Friar Josef’s eyes twinkled. “Tell them of the snakes.”
Speechless, Alexia sat back in her chair, amazed at the power of God and of His gifts freely offered to mankind if only they would believe.
“Snakes came out of the wall.” Seraphina’s lip began to tremble, and Damien drew a chair up for her to sit. Returning his smile, she lowered into it. “I”—she glanced at Friar Josef—“we became anxious for you.”
The friar raised his brows and smiled. “Thus, the praying.”
“You mock us, dear lady. How could you possibly know these things?” Damien huffed, shifting his gaze between Alexia and Ronar, though he knew as well as they that none of them could have disclosed the information.
“Are you so thickheaded, Sir Damien?” Alexia forced playfulness in her tone, for she had no desire to enrage the large knight.
A frown was her only answer as Damien shifted his attention back to Seraphina. And who could blame him? The maid had always been lovely. Even now her long hair glistened like snow in the firelight as it tumbled over her shoulder, easing over her feminine curves. But ’twas the look in her eyes as she gazed at Damien that made Alexia smile. ’Twas good to see love blossom in the midst of such tribulation.
Ronar leaned his forearms on his knees. “I can hardly credit it, Friar, but Mistress Seraphina must surely possess this gift of knowledge that you recently read to us about from the Scriptures.”
“That’s it!” Alexia nearly shouted. “I had not known the proper name for it.”
Friar Josef smiled at Seraphina. “I will not gainsay it. You are truly gifted.”
As was the friar, but he was too humble to admit it. Yet how many times during Alexia’s stay in this place had he heard directly from God? Something she struggled with even now.
“Sweet saints, the wall was real, then?” Friar Josef faced her. “Pray tell us what happened to it?”
“Ah that,” Alexia said with an unruffled air she had not felt at the time. “At the mention of Christ’s name and the Word of God, it vanished.”
Friar Josef clapped his hands together. “Praise His name!”
“Indeed.” Ronar nodded, and Alexia was pleased to see him growing in the faith.
Damien, however, returned to the sideboard for more wine.
Seraphina’s gaze followed him ere she spoke again, this time with more fear in her voice. “I saw something else. Darkness. Much darkness. It grows thicker at Luxley with each passing day.”
“Aye.” Ronar shared a glance with Alexia and took her hand in his. “We have been sensing the same every time we venture there.”
“Then you will need much prayer the next time you go,” the friar said. “And you must put on your armor.”
Damien chuckled and took another sip of wine. “What good will armor do against walls of snakes?”
“Not that kind of armor, son. God’s armor.” The friar pointed at his chest, but Damien only frowned yet again. Alexia would have to step up her prayers for him.
“I suppose Sir Walter did not sign your document,” Seraphina asked.
“Nay, not this time,” Ro
nar said. “But we are close.”
“Pray, what exactly does it say?”
“’Tis a statement of guilt,” Alexia said, “from Sir Walter to the king, informing His Majesty that he and Bishop Montruse conspired to falsely accuse me of being a witch, though they had no reason or proof. All with the goal of Sir Walter becoming the new lord of Luxley and Bishop Montruse acquiring the Spear of Destiny.” Alexia smiled at Ronar, enjoying the feel of his warm hand around hers. “It also absolves Ronar LePeine, Jarin the Just, and Damien LaRage of any traitorous activities and requests they be reinstated as King’s Guards.”
“Here, here!” Damien said.
“At the end,” Ronar continued her story. “Sir Walter asks for clemency to return to his own estate, giving his troth to never set foot in Luxley again.”
Seraphina’s delicate brow furrowed. “But why would the king believe such a thing coming from the man himself? ’Twould make no sense for him to send such an admission of guilt when he believes there to be no chance of being caught. What is his motive?”
“In the document he exposes the bishop’s plan to take the Spear to the Holy Primal instead of the king. This display of loyalty he hopes will grant him his freedom.”
“Is that the bishop’s true desire?”
Ronar grinned. “We do not know, I’ll grant you, but the bishop is an evil, ambitious man, and I would not believe otherwise.”
“Still…” Seraphina frowned. “Why would the king believe such a tale?”
“He would not,” Damien interjected and approached to stand beside the lady. “But the missive, complete with Sir Walter’s seal, would raise enough suspicion that he would send men to investigate.”
“And once they spoke with all the servants at Luxley,” Alexia added, “the truth would come out. Anabelle assures me they loathe the man.”
Seraphina nodded. “Then he simply must sign it,” she said with the conviction of someone in power. Pausing, she glanced at Damien and then over them all. “I have other news. Sir Jarin has found Lady Cristiana.”
“Found?” Releasing Ronar’s hand, Alexia leapt to her feet, joy bursting within her. “Where? Is she safe? I’m going to her.” She headed to retrieve her quiver and bow.
“Nay, nay, my lady. I see mere glimpses here and there. Hence, I know not where she is or how far away, only that Jarin the Just has found her, and she is safe…for now.”
Halting, Alexia faced her, hiding her disappointment. “’Tis good news, Seraphina. Thank you.”
Friar Josef gestured for them all to gather around him. “I beg you, we must not delay in praying for them.”
“Why so urgent?” Ronar asked.
Seraphina bit her lip, fear tightening the features of her face. “I see darkness, deep, malevolent darkness. It follows close on their trail.”
♥♥♥
By all that was accursed, Cedric would earn his new name! He would no longer be Cedric LeGode, apprentice of Drago. He would be given a title worthy of his power—the dark powers he was learning to wield with such authority. But first he had to prove to Drago how much he had learned and how powerful he had become. Mayhap some day soon, even more powerful than the great warlock Drago himself! Then Cedric’s father would finally grant him the respect he deserved. That or Cedric would simply put a curse on him and squash him like the rodent he was.
From beneath the hood of his black cloak, he gazed over the thirty knights and soldiers dismounting and leading their horses to drink from a creek flowing across the green pasture. They’d been chasing Lady Cristiana and that lily-livered knight Sir Jarin all day across field, forest, and farm. But to no avail. Though they’d been following their tracks, they’d seen neither hint nor hair of them.
Buffoons! Thirty warriors and they could not find one man and one pathetic woman! The woman who left him shamed and dishonored on their wedding day. Not that he’d been overjoyed to wed the shrew, but her rejection had increased not only his father’s ridicule of him, but all of Luxley’s, as well.
Now, as they stopped to rest the horses, Cedric’s impatience bubbled to eruption. He smiled. These men knew not the danger his current temperament put them in.
His narrowed gaze slithered over them, locking onto Sir DeGay, the head of Luxley’s knights, and Sir Borin, head of the bishop’s soldiers, speaking to one another. No doubt planning their next atrocious failure.
Lubberworts! He’d hex them right here and now, if Drago hadn’t instructed him to leave them be.
He spun, his cloak twirling around him, and pulled a black sack from his horse’s saddle. Holding it to his chest, he longed to open it, grab a handful of the black dust, fling it in the air, and say the words that would transform each speck into a ravenous wolf that would do his bidding—and only his.
Nay, he would not waste them on these craven fops.
Strapping the bag back onto the saddle, he put his boot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up.
Demon, his black steed, pawed the ground in anticipation.
Cedric’s sentiments exactly.
Then without bidding the soldiers adieu, he urged Demon into a gallop, tore across the field, and left the incompetent dolts in his wake.
He would find Lady Cristiana and Sir Jarin himself. And when he did, he’d bring them back to Drago and receive his just reward.
Chapter 17
Life transformed into a mirage of greens, browns, and blues that swept past Cristiana as fast as the wind striking her face. That wind oft stole her breath, forcing her to lower her chin and cover Thebe with her cloak merely to catch a breath. All while trying to balance atop the rolling muscles of a speeding horse. In good sooth, it helped that Sir Jarin kept a thick arm wrapped around them, fastening them against his broad chest. It aided in their safety, not in her determination to resist the knight’s charms—to not feel safe within his arms, to not grow to depend upon him, to not feel her insides melt at his touch.
Childish woman! Of all the men to direct her gaze upon, a philandering knight with the charm of a page and the looks of a god. When all she ever wanted was stability—to be loved and never abandoned again.
When the sun stretched high above them, they stopped in a copse of firs bordering a small pond. Thebe had begun to cry, though Cristiana was not sure ’twas the reason the knight ceased his mad pace.
“I give you but a few moments to tend the child.” He grabbed her waist and lowered her and Thebe to the ground with ease ere leading Challenger to the water. Fear surrounded him. Nay, not fear. Not in this warrior. ’Twas tension…as one might feel in the silence before battle…a keen awareness of everything around them, a readiness to fight at a moment’s notice.
“Have we not outrun them?” Cristiana followed him and set Thebe down on the bank.
Challenger lowered his head to slurp the water. Only then did she notice the horse’s hard breathing and the foam around his mouth.
Thebe splashed her hand in the pond.
“Nay, my lady. I fear they are close behind.” Sir Jarin pulled a cup from his sack and lowered to scoop up water ere handing it to her. “I haven’t the time to erase our tracks.” He scanned the surroundings like a hawk seeking prey, his ears tuned, his eyes taking in every detail. They finally found hers, and despite the tension emanating from him, a gentle look peered out from hiding. Sweet angels, if she didn’t have her wits about her, she’d collapse against him, longing for his arms to wrap around her yet again.
“Drink, Cristi.” Thebe tugged on her cloak, and Jarin frowned.
“Ensure she gets enough to drink, for we cannot stop again. Her needs kept us overlong in Sancreet, and we were nearly caught.” Though his tone was not harsh, neither was it accommodating.
Anger stole Cristiana’s sudden need for an embrace from this man. “Her name is Thebe, Sir Jarin.” She drained the cup and stooped to fill it for the babe. Whilst the girl drank, Cristiana retrieved a clean cloth from her sack and knelt to change Thebe’s soiled garment. She knew Sir Jarin never w
anted the child to come along. She knew the babe slowed their progress, but she was with them now. At the very least he could speak her name, treat her kindly and not like she was a mere burden.
Turning away, Sir Jarin lowered to his haunches and drew water to his mouth.
Thankfully, Thebe’s cloth wasn’t too soiled. Hence, Cristiana washed it in the pond, intending to let it dry in the wind as they rode. Having completed her task, she set Thebe on her feet and took her chubby hand in hers. “She’ll need to eat.”
Though Sir Jarin gave not the expected groan, the news—which he should have already assumed—caused him to rub the beard on his chin and look around. Rising, he rummaged through the sack Father Godwin had given him and pulled out a small loaf of bread. “This will have to do. We must leave. Now.”
She didn’t argue. Thebe did, however. The poor child wished to run and play and not be once again confined to the back of a horse. But there was naught to be done for it.
Seated on Challenger yet again, Cristiana broke off a piece of bread and handed it to her. Jarin swung on behind, grabbed the reins with one hand, and wrapped the other around her, pushing her back against him. His unique scent, all man and earth and leather, filled her senses, as he prodded the horse out of the trees and down the dirt road.
Hours passed, darkness fell, and still they rode on. Thebe had long since cried herself to sleep. At least one of them rested in bliss, for though Cristiana’s eyes grew heavy, and she leaned back against Sir Jarin, her slumber was chased by a thousand terrifying thoughts of her present predicament—pursued by both Luxley and the bishop’s soldiers, no shelter or food to be found, outnumbered in every way, Luxley in the hands of the man who had murdered her mother, and her sister wanted for witchcraft. How would God see them out of all of this? Or would He even bother?
Finally, Sir Jarin slowed Challenger, turned off the road, and plunged into a thick forest. He dismounted and with only a “Stay here” directed at her, walked back the way they’d come, returning within minutes. Then taking the horse by the reins, he led them forward.
She Walks in Love (Protectors of the Spear Book 2) Page 13