Clutching the sleeping babe close, Cristiana could see naught but spindly branches reaching for her like boney fingers of the night as the wind laughed through the leaves and the barest hint of a moon peeked through treetops. The chirp of night insects, croak of frogs, and the hoot of an owl accompanied them as scents of pine and hickory swirled about her.
“Why did you go back?” she asked him.
“To erase our tracks.” He stopped at a small clearing and reached up to take Thebe from her, then assisted her down with his other hand. She could barely see him in the darkness as he handed the child back to her and said, “I’ll make a fire.”
This he did more swiftly than she could have imagined, and soon a crackling blaze centered their camp. The warmth and light drew Cristiana close as Sir Jarin disappeared into the dark forest yet again. Removing her cloak, she gently wrapped Thebe within its warm folds, adjusted the doll gripped in her arms, and laid her on a patch of soft moss by the fire.
Jarin returned with more wood and an armful of ferns, which he quickly formed into a small bed for Thebe and a pillow for Cristiana. She watched as he tirelessly performed these tasks, knowing he had to be as exhausted as she. Yet this fierce knight, this warrior, took extra measure to ensure their comfort.
“’Tis all I can do for now, my lady. If I had time, I could make a shelter should it rain.” He glanced upward. “But we won’t be here long enough to warrant it.”
“Thank you, Sir Jarin. You have risked all to protect Thebe and me.” Cristiana transferred the child onto the soft bed. Thebe made a gurgling sound but was soon fast asleep again.
When Cristiana looked up, she found Sir Jarin staring at Thebe with an odd look, which quickly dissolved when his gaze met hers. He smiled. “My pleasure, my lady. ’Tis my oath as a knight to protect those in need.”
She shook off the sudden longing that ’twas more than that. “You are a worthy knight,” was all she said as she settled as modestly as possible on the ground beside Thebe.
“We shall see. We are not at Luxley yet.”
“How much further is it?”
“Four, mayhap five days at the most.” Grabbing his sack, he pulled out some bread, salted meat, a wineskin and two cups. Breaking the bread, he handed her a chunk, along with some meat, then poured wine into her cup. “God bless Father Godwin.” He arched a brow.
“Indeed.” Cristiana suddenly realized how hungry she was. “Thank Thee, God, for this food,” she said before biting off a piece of bread. She glanced down at Thebe, longing to give her some, but ’twas best she got her rest for now.
“I will provide a feast for her in the morn,” Sir Jarin announced with as much confidence as if he had a kitchen, cook, and bevy of serving maids at his command. Yet, ’twas not that which shocked her, but that he thought of the child.
Sipping the spiced wine, she gazed at the leaping flames, praying both would help her nerves settle from the harrowing day. “We have escaped them?” She needed to hear Sir Jarin’s confident tone, his assurance they were well past danger.
“For now.” Unbuckling his belt, he took off his sword strapped to it and laid it within reach ere he sat beside her. Drawing up his knees, he leaned his arms on them and gave her that grin of his that could melt a fortress of ice. It had the effect of warming her insides to near searing. Alas, not simply his grin, but ’twas the look in his eyes—one of tender regard—that stole her senses.
She moved away slightly, pulled off another piece of bread, and popped it in her mouth. ’Twas most unseemly to be spending the night alone with him. Mayhap a reminder of his near-vows of celibacy would douse the flame of passion in his gaze, as well as the heat running rampant through her veins.
“I still cannot fathom it. You a monk!”
He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “A lifetime ago.”
“I see why a man like you would find no favor in it.”
“How now? A man like me?” Playfulness in his eyes teased her as he bit off a chunk of meat.
“Aye, a wanderer, an adventurer, a fighter…” She wanted to say lover but didn’t. “A life of prayer, tedious work, and devotion, not to mention being sequestered behind walls, would not suit you, Sir Jarin.”
He sipped his wine. “Nay. Though none of those reasons were the cause of my leaving.” He stared at the ground as if his jovial mood had suddenly fallen there among the moss and dirt.
She waited, longing to hear more, wanting more than anything to understand this man. The fire crackled and spit sparks high into the air, and she glanced up to see stars flickering between branches. She also longed to hear from God, to understand Him as well. But she found Him as elusive as this man beside her.
Sir Jarin bit off another piece of salted meat. “’Twas Who I prayed to, Who I devoted my life to that made the sacrifice of no avail.”
“Forsooth! You do not mean God Himself?” Cristiana did not know whether to rebuke the near blasphemy or hasten away, lest lightning strike him where he sat.
Sir Jarin picked up a twig and tossed it in the fire. “He was not who I thought He was. I found Him untrustworthy when it mattered.”
For some reason, this saddened her, though she oft thought God had abandoned her as well. For most of her life, if she were honest. The early death of her father, then her mother, and her sister abandoning her. Then being drugged by the one man she trusted most. Where was God in all of that? Yet, by all accounts, Sir Jarin was a prosperous and successful knight with everything to his credit—intelligence, brawn, bravery, skill, and good friends. Not to mention the ear of the king. What possibly could have happened to make him turn against the Almighty?
Mayhap he had as sad a tale as she.
“If you found Him so unfaithful, what made you join the monastery in the first place?”
He poured her more wine. “In truth, ’twas my father. He wanted a life of devotion in the church for me.”
“Why? Did he not know his own son?”
“He loved God and received much joy from serving Him. He thought I would benefit from the same.”
“And where is he now?”
“In the ground.” He shrugged as if it meant naught, but his smile vanished. “’Tis for the best, I suppose, for he did not have to witness my fall from grace.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No more than I am for your loss. Both your parents left you at a young age.”
The reminder soured the food in her stomach, and she set aside the meat, opting for more wine instead, along with a change of topic. “Surely you believe that God is with us after what happened this morning?” She sipped her wine.
“I grant you, I can make no sense of that fog, my lady.” He shook his head and blew out a sigh.
“’Twas the Spear. God is with the Spear, and the Spear is with me.” ’Twas the only sense she could make out of such a miraculous rescue.
“I hope you are right.” He glanced her way. “If so, we shall be safe the rest of our journey.”
But she could see from his tight expression he believed not his own words.
He tossed another log onto the fire, then removed his leather coat. A red splotch stained his shirt, and Cristiana set down her cup and dashed to kneel before him.
“You’re injured.”
He said naught, merely smiled and looked at her, their faces so close, she could see the firelight flickering in his brown eyes.
“You were hurt in the fight.” She loosened the ties at his collar and peered beneath, knowing all the while a maiden should do no such thing.
A cut the length of a finger sliced across the rounded muscles of his chest.
“’Tis nothing, my lady, I assure you. ’Twill heal on its own.” His breath wafted over her, all spiced wine and cinnamon, making her catch her own as her heart raced within her.
The memory of how bravely and expertly he had defeated those two soldiers made her shamelessly glance once again at the strength in his chest and the firm roundness of his arms.
Sweet angels! What was she doing? “It must needs be…It must…” Averting her gaze to the ground, she started to rise. “Cleaned. I will get a cloth.”
His hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her gently back to the ground. “No need, my lady. Prithee, do not leave. Your close presence brings healing, for I can no longer feel the pain.”
She had no doubt of that for she could no longer feel anything but the need to be in his arms.
Reaching up slowly, he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes taking her in as if he wished to drink of her.
Her weak attempt to pull away did naught to dissuade him from continuing to caress her with both eyes and hand. She could leave if she wanted. She knew he would not keep her there by force. But she didn’t want to leave. God forgive her. She didn’t want to. “Alas, you tempt me overmuch, sir.” Her chest rose and fell, her breaths filling the space betwixt them.
Blast him! He knew the effect he had on her, for one side of his mouth curved upward in a grin so charming and full of promise it suffocated sense and senses.
He leaned closer. She shouldn’t. Nay! She shouldn’t. She a maiden, and he a libertine knight. With nary a promise spoken between them.
Before she could convince herself to flee, his lips met hers.
Chapter 18
Jarin had spent many a night with a woman, but none as tantalizing, none as enchanting, as was last night with Lady Cristiana D’Clere. And oddly not for the reasons one would expect. He smiled and pushed to sit from his position on the ground beside her and the babe. In truth ’twas not beside, but a few feet away. Bosh! A man could only take so much temptation.
He rubbed his aching eyes and glanced over the trees, where the hint of dawn brought leaves and branches into focus. Birds began to warble their morning tunes, ever happy tunes. But then again they had naught but flitting from branch to branch and eating seeds and worms to fill their day—not being a mouse to a cat in a game of chase that could end up in death.
Which is why he’d hardly slept last night, keeping vigil over the precious souls entrusted to him. Rising, he stretched his back and quietly lowered to his haunches beside them. Cristiana, dear Cristiana, her thick black lashes fanned over lustrous cheeks as she lay on the pillow he’d formed for her, the babe tucked against her chest, her little cherub expression one of pure innocence. And Jarin’s leather cloak over them both. He rubbed his arms against the chill of the morning. She wouldn’t accept it when she retired, so he’d waited for her to fall asleep. Knowing they slept warm and dry had kept him warm all night.
Almost.
He should go seek out food to break their fast. He should gather wood to get the fire going again. But he could not turn away from this rare moment, a chance to stare at this angel without her knowing. To gaze upon her beauty….her exquisite loveliness—the way her fawn-colored hair lay in wisps upon her face and flowed like liquid amber over her curves, the pink hue to her lips, the color the sunshine of yesterday drew from her cheeks.
She twitched, and her lips moved, reminding him of their kiss, the sensation of her soft lips on his, the sweet taste he barely sampled ere she pushed from him, a look of horror on her face. Faith, a reaction he’d never encountered from a lady before! One kiss and he normally had a woman at his mercy. Not this lady. Though ’twas not from a lack of passion on her part. For if Jarin knew one thing, ’twas when a woman’s longing matched his own.
That she’d not given herself to him pleased him more than he could make sense of. This was a proper lady, a woman of honor and morality he’d not seen the likes of in either pauper or princess. A woman of kindness and goodness and care for others.
A lady worth protecting with his life.
Thebe’s eyelids fluttered ere they slowly opened. Baby blue eyes stared up at him before a smile curved the child’s lips and excitement tingled in her expression.
And something hard within Jarin burst into pieces.
Angry, he rose, grabbed his sword, and charged into the forest.
Several minutes later, he returned with a pocket full of nuts and berries and five eggs he’d found in a nest. Lady Cristiana sat by the simmering coals of the fire, Thebe in her lap, brushing the girl’s hair and singing a sweet song he’d not heard before. He swallowed a lump of emotion at the sight of madonna and child, the sweetness of it, the purity, the feminine allure of motherly love. Then she lifted her face to him, and the smile that lit it nearly caused him to bow before her and swear his fealty forever.
But that must never happen.
“A feast!” He strode toward them. “As promised.” He would employ humor and charm with this lady, and gruffness if he had to. Whate’er it took to keep thoughts of anything more than a simple dalliance from his mind. And his heart!
After cracking the eggs into one of the cups, he broke the bread into pieces, dipped it in the yolks, and handed them to the lady, along with a selection of berries and nuts spread upon a leafy plate.
“Feast, indeed, Sir Jarin. You are a man of many talents.”
“I’ve learned to fend for myself.” He kicked dirt into the coals as he tossed a handful of nuts and berries into his mouth. The meaty sweetness lured further growls from his stomach, but a more substantial meal would have to wait.
The eerie, shrill call of a raven tainted the joyful morning birdsong. Odd. Jarin studied their surroundings, listening for any sound that shouldn’t be there. Naught but the flutter of leaves in the wind, the buzz of insects, and chirp of birds met his ears. Shaking it off, he plopped to the ground and grabbed a hunk of bread. They’d have to find supplies soon, for this would not last until the morrow.
Not with the way the child was devouring what Cristiana put before her. She put berry after berry into her little mouth, and when she looked up and saw Jarin, she smiled so wide, pieces of berries dotted her white teeth as juice slipped down her lips.
He couldn’t help but chuckle, and Cristiana joined him. Their eyes met, the gaiety of the moment causing a bond between them he would do anything to avoid.
He averted his gaze to the child. “You like the berries, little one?”
“Aye, Jarn. Welishious.” She took a cup from Lady Cristiana and gulped down the sweet water.
He smiled at her mispronunciation, then looked at Cristiana. “Jarn?”
Shrugging, her eyes twinkled with mirth. “She has her own language, this one.” Withdrawing the cup, she handed the child another piece of bread. A crumb sat upon the lady’s lower lip, and Jarin reached over and brushed it off with his thumb.
At the intimate gesture, her eyes widened for a moment, and she pressed a finger to her lips, her gaze searching his. She thinks of our kiss.
As did he. As he had continually through the long night.
“Here.” He moved the remainder of his bread and fruit before Thebe. “You can have my share, wee one.”
Cristiana stared at him oddly. “You give me your cloak and now your food. I won’t hear of it, Sir Jarin. You must eat as well.”
“Eat, Jarn.” Thebe took a berry in her chubby hands, rose, and headed for his mouth. He opened it at the last minute, and she dropped it in.
“Thank you, my lady.” He dipped his head toward her, and Cristiana laughed.
Thebe returned for a nut and repeated the action, giggling this time when he promptly opened his mouth at her approach.
“You will make a good father someday, Sir Jarin.” Lady Cristiana stood and brushed off her skirts.
“I never intend to bind myself to such a duty.” He regretted the words ere they left his lips, along with their tone, meant only to repulse his own foolish desire.
“Whatever do you mean? Do you not wish to wed someday and have children to carry on your name?”
“I do not.” He gathered his cloak from the ground, put it on, and then held hers up for her. “’Tis not a name which perforce needs to carry on.”
The emotions that crossed her face could not be discerned. And he was
quite good at discerning female emotions. Sorrow, shock, fury. Definitely fury.
Grabbing her cloak from him, she put it on herself, then stood before him and poked a finger at his chest. “You dare to kiss me when you have no intention of making an offer?”
Jarin swallowed down a lump of guilt and opened his mouth to answer when a low, ferocious growl filled the air, silencing the birds, and prickling the hair on his arms.
The rumbling snarl continued, grew louder, and was soon joined by others….coming from all around them.
Wolves.
♥♥♥
Cristiana’s anger drowned out whate’er sound alerted Sir Jarin, for he diverted his attention from her and set a firm gaze upon their surroundings. His entire body stiffened like the trunk of a tree, and she realized he would hear no more of her arguments even should she shout them in his ear.
Challenger whinnied and began pawing the ground from his spot where Sir Jarin had tied him to a branch.
That’s when she, too, heard the growls, rising out of the mist, curling around the trees. Reaching for Thebe, she swept her into her arms and stood frozen in fear beside Sir Jarin. He pushed them both behind him and drew his sword.
Not a good sign for whate’er was coming their way. In truth, she already knew. ’Twas the ferocious wolves that had nearly attacked them ere they reached the monastery.
How did the beasts find them? What did they want? Were they even wolves? For her sister had said otherwise. Either way, whether flesh or spirit, how could Sir Jarin defeat them all?
The growling grew louder, deeper, more malevolent. Thebe whimpered and hid her face within Cristiana’s cloak.
Leaves parted. Black, fur-covered faces emerged one by one, dozens of them, with sharp slit-like eyes and mouths wide, baring white fangs and salivating tongues.
Challenger snorted and whinnied, pawing the ground and shaking his head back and forth. No sooner did his reins loosen from the tree than he bolted into the thicket and disappeared.
She Walks in Love (Protectors of the Spear Book 2) Page 14