“I slept in a bed with Cristi!”
Sir Jarin’s eyes snapped to hers, and the look within them sent another warm surge through her.
Frowning, Quinn sauntered toward Sir Jarin. “What need of these weapons, Jarin? Are we to hunt this morn?”
Sir Jarin set Thebe down, and the little girl picked up one of the rushes on the floor and dashed to sit by the fire.
“Nay, my friend. I fear we must be away. I am to bring the lady home posthaste.”
“Peace, froth! I’ll not hear of it.” Quinn motioned for a servant to bring their food. “I insist you stay a few days and recover from your journey.” He gestured toward Cristiana. “’Tis clear the lady is fatigued and needs her rest. As well as the child.” He strolled toward Jarin, stopping before him. “Besides, we have much to catch up on, my friend. ’Tis been far too long.”
He was right, of course. Cristiana was quite fatigued. However, she was also most anxious to be on her way back home to her sister. Still, ’twould be selfish of her to deny Sir Jarin a few days with his old friend. Ergo, she remained silent as Sir Jarin’s gaze latched upon her, no doubt assessing her wishes.
Servants sped into the room, placing bowls of steaming oatmeal and platters of bread and plums onto a trestle table set near the fire. In the light of day, she glanced around the main hall and found it a sufficient and handsome room, well-ceilinged in oak, but desperately deficient in ornaments and tapestries one would assume the lord of the manner would wish to display. A set of family swords hung on one wall, while a painting of the sea hung on another, yet beyond that there were no painted vases or silver chalices, ivory statues, or oriental rugs.
Quinn gestured for them to sit, but Thebe had already rushed for the table and taken a spot. Laughing, they all joined her, enjoying the wonderful meal. In truth, it felt good to have her belly full again and even better to see Thebe satiated and happy. And Sir Jarin seemed most pleased as he conversed with his friend about the workings of the manor, Savoy village, and happier days at Tegimen Abbey.
Yet more oft than not, she lifted her gaze to find Lord Quinn staring at her. Alas, she could not deny the interest in his eyes, nor the way that interest made her squirm.
Finally, he turned to Sir Jarin. “I beseech you, do grace me with your presence a few more days, Jarin. I know!” His dull eyes lit. “I shall host a small gathering on your behalf this evening!”
“Nay!” Jarin said a bit too harshly, startling Cristiana. “Forgive me,” he added. “We do not wish for anyone to know we are here, if you understand me.”
Quinn stared at him a moment ere his eyes twinkled in mischief. “I believe I do.” He finished his drink and rose from the table. “You may count on my discretion. However, you cannot prevent me from having a feast merely for us and inviting my minstrels to entertain.”
Jarin smiled, glanced at her and then at Thebe ere he turned to Quinn again.
“I will not be gainsaid, my friend,” Quinn said.
Jarin rose. “Very well, we shall stay another day. But only one, I’m afraid.”
“That is all I ask.” Quinn’s smile faltered ere it reached his eyes. “Now if you’ll pardon me, I shall make plans for our evening.” Dipping his head in her direction, he started off, but then turned back around. “Jarin, I must needs go into the village today. Would you agree to accompany me?”
“I shall enjoy that,” Jarin returned, and the man marched away.
“Do you think that is wise?” Cristiana asked as she turned to wipe nectarine juice from Thebe’s face.
Straddling the bench, Jarin lowered to sit beside her, mere inches from her face. The manly smell of him rose to intoxicate her, and she avoided his gaze, fearing she’d get lost in the warmth of his eyes.
“My lady, pray, I hope it causes you no distress if we stay one more day. The rest and food will do you and the babe good ere we are forced back to our journey.”
Thebe crawled into her lap and stared up at Sir Jarin.
“I agree, Sir Jarin, and I thank you for your kind thought. I only fear it gives the bishop and Sir Walter’s men time to find us.” And your friend makes me most uncomfortable, she longed to say but held her tongue.
“Nay. They would ne’er think to look here, and with no word of us in any of the villages or surrounding counties, indeed, ’tis my hope they will give up the chase.” He reached for her hand but halted and gripped the bench instead. “Which is why I wish for you and the child to remain safely here today. Rest, enjoy the gardens, eat, play, and recover your strength.”
“What if someone in the village recognizes you?”
Thebe reached for the belt strapped over his shoulder, curiously fingering the buckle.
Sir Jarin gently moved her hand away, but she wrapped a finger around one of his and giggled. It appeared no more than a thread circling a mighty oak as it barely encompassed his thick finger.
“I will keep myself covered,” he said, staring at the oddity ere he gazed up at Cristiana again. “As I did when we inquired after Quinn. Besides, ’tis you they seek.”
Moments passed as he stared at her, saying naught, yet with eyes brimming with unspoken words.
Something in those eyes, something among the words, barely perceptible—a depth, a longing for something more—caused a plethora of unnamed emotions to swirl within her. He’d declared his desire to never wed, yet he looked at her as if he were about to propose.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and her heart sped.
Thebe reached up and tugged on his short beard. “Jarn. Horsey ride?”
He laughed as the child left Cristiana’s lap and crawled into his arms. Shocked at first by the action, he stiffened, but then soon embraced her. “Not today, little one. But soon.”
Thebe leaned her head against his chest, and the sight of her curled up in those thickly muscled arms did naught to quell Cristiana’s unnamed emotions.
“We will leave first thing in the morning. You have my troth, my lady.”
“I shall hold you to that, Sir Jarin.”
Chapter 23
Jarin hated to leave Cristiana and Thebe, but they’d be safe enough within the walls of Savoy Manor. He also hated to delay their journey to Luxley, but he could see the fatigue dragging down the lady, and he would loathe himself should she or the babe become ill. In truth, Quinn’s manor might be the perfect place to hide, for no one but Father Godwin knew of their association. And mayhap once the bishop’s men lost their trail, they’d relent in their mission. At least for a time. Though ’twas a longshot to be sure.
Still, the extra day gave Jarin time to discover the reason for his friend’s melancholy, though Quinn did his best to hide it. They had shared their hopes and dreams once. Mayhap the man would do so again.
Yet all Quinn spoke of as they rode on horseback through the manor lands farmed by his tenants was how great were his holdings and how far he’d risen from being the second son of a minor baron.
Sunlight dispelled the early morning mist, leaving behind sparkling drops over grassy fields and transforming the countryside into a magical place of wonder. Geese slid atop crystalline ponds as birds of every color danced among the branches of trees. And Jarin suddenly wished Cristiana was present to share the beauty. A beauty that was soon marred by the living conditions of some of Quinn’s tenants. Broken-down shacks provided the only shelter for the villeins dressed in naught but rags as they went about their work.
Upon seeing their lord ride by, they gave the required bow of obeisance, but none approached to ask him for assistance in repairs. A strange sight, that, for Jarin had witnessed many a lord surrounded by adoring tenants begging for his grace with this or that. Jarin longed to ask about the shabby conditions but could hardly get a word in with all of Quinn’s self-aggrandizing bluster.
Thankfully, a gust of fresh wind blew away the smell of manure and disease as they left the final cluster of farm homes and started for the small village of Savoy.
“You are most fort
unate, my friend,” Jarin said. “Lord of such a manor. Who would have guessed such a thing as we gulped down wine in the abbey’s cellar?”
Quinn’s dark hair blew in the breeze as eyes, dull from his morning spirits, found their way to Jarin. “That I would be so fortunate to have my grandfather, father, and brother die in the same day? Not I.”
His callousness dismayed Jarin. “I am sorry, my friend. Was it difficult for you?”
“Nay. They bore me no affection, as you may remember. Begad! They would hate knowing I am now lord of Savoy Manor.” He gave a wicked chuckle.
“Yet, here you are with land, position, and power. ’Tis what you always wanted, is it not?”
Quinn made no response, merely turned to Jarin with a wink. “Race you to the village?”
Jarin laughed and immediately spurred his horse to take off at a full gallop. Wind blasted through his hair and slapped his face, stealing his breath and making him feel as though he flew through the air. Such a sense of freedom he’d not known in some time. Quinn kept pace with him, his palfrey’s muscles rolling and swelling as the beast charged forward. He laughed and smiled at Jarin, and in that smile, Jarin saw the boy he had once known.
Regardless, he could not allow him to win! Lowering his head, Jarin sped toward the small collection of buildings at the end of the road, passing Quinn by a horse-length ere he slowed the animal at the village entrance.
Quinn, however, charged straight into the village, scattering chickens, pigs, and villagers alike. One lady screamed as she gathered a child in her arms and darted out of the way.
Oblivious, Quinn lifted his hands. “I win! Welcome to my humble village, Jarin.”
Humble indeed, as Jarin had noted the day before. In truth, he could see from one end to the other. Several buildings inhabited the space in between, a parish church, an inn with a pub attached, storehouse, leather worker, and apothecary. Also perched along the muddy and rutted streets were homes of wattle and daub where cow’s heads poked out windows and children tramped through mud with the pigs. The smell of feces, both human and animal, along with woodsmoke and rotted meat swept over Jarin, nearly knocking him from his horse as they made their way through a procession of carts, hay wains, piemakers, and fishmongers. None spoke a word to Quinn. All quickly sped out of his way.
Ere he knew it, Quinn had stopped at the pub, dismounted, and gestured for Jarin to follow him inside. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. It took less time for his nose to curl from the stench—much of the same as ’twas outside, but stronger and with the added sting of alcohol. A fire blazed on the far side of the room before which several benches and tables were strewn. Candles provided the only other light, including several hanging from the ceiling on a wooden chandelier.
Other things hung from the ceiling, animal carcasses, sacks full of grain, ropes, and an iron cage, housing a bird whose song could not be heard above the clamor of the men below, at least a dozen of them, some shouting, some singing, and some whispering secrets. All deep in their cups. Odd for so early an hour. Large barrels were stacked behind a wooden bar where two men poured wine for serving wenches who sashayed over straw covered floors, drawing the gaze of several salivating patrons.
Two of the women greeted Quinn with a smile as he plowed through the crowd and, upon finding an empty table, plopped down and shouted, “Wine for my friend and me!”
A woman slinked in their direction. Golden curls circled an angelic face at odds with her surroundings. Her innocent expression ’twas also at odds with her tight corset that pushed much of her chest into view, leaving little to the imagination. She slammed two mugs on the table and then leaned forward, exposing more of herself to their view.
Jarin had not been with a woman in…how long had it been? Years? Nay. Could not be. Yet he could recall neither the date nor the face of his last tryst. Which did naught to explain why his body did not react to such a flagrant display of female flesh.
Bosh! What had happened to him? Had he lost his allure with women? Nay, not from the look in this one’s eyes.
“She’s a pretty thing, is she not?” Quinn reached out and drew the woman near ere leaning to nibble on her neck.
She giggled, but her eyes were on Jarin, luring him with their suggestive look. Then, wrapping her arms around Quinn’s shoulders, she perched on his lap. “Where ’ave ye been, my lord. I ’aven’t seen ye for a fortnight.” Her gaze slithered to Jarin. “An’ who be yer friend?”
“Mistress Dulcia, may I present Sir Jarin the Just, an old acquaintance of mine.”
“Pleasure, sir.” She offered her hand, which Jarin took out of politeness, attempting to keep his eyes off her half-exposed bosom. Why? He could not say, for he’d never averted his eyes from such pleasure before.
“Do ye not have a friend for Sir Jarin?” Quinn glanced around the smoke-filled room. “Where is Adelais?”
“What need ’ave ye of Adelais? I can ’andle ye both.” Giggling, the woman leapt off Quinn’s lap and onto Jarin’s. She smelled of lilacs, sour wine, and a thousand men’s hands. Despite her feminine curves, Jarin politely nudged her back to Quinn.
“If you please, mistress, I have no doubt Quinn shall be able to satisfy you fully.”
Dulcia stuck out her bottom lip in a feigned pout that appeared more ridiculous than charming.
Quinn grabbed her by the waist, drained his mug, and slammed it on the table. “In good sooth, Jarin, I begin to worry for you, my friend. Dulcia, fetch me another drink.” He all but shoved her from his lap, his eyes following her as she sashayed away.
Sipping his wine, Jarin studied his friend. Aye, they had dreamt of tasting all the delectable delights life had to offer, but Quinn was lord of a manor now. Surely ’twas time to put childish things away. Jarin shifted in his seat at the thought. Had he?
Dark shadows reappeared around his friend, stealing the sparkle from his eyes when his gaze returned to Jarin.
Jarin leaned forward on the table. “Get a wife and be done with all this roistering, Quinn.”
“Odds life! That coming from you?” Quinn gave an incredulous laugh.
Jarin sat back, hiding his disappointment. “Our lives are different now. I am a knight. You are lord of a manor.” He glanced over the trollops in the room. “A decent lady would do you good.”
Quinn huffed and raked back his hair. “A lady, indeed. A woman of status and purity. Yet I cannot obtain more than a glance from such a one, though I admit they are rare in Savoy.”
Jarin raised a brow at their surroundings. “And most rare in such a place as this.”
“Where else to have my needs met?” Quinn shrugged and glanced toward Dulcia who was approaching with more wine.
The shadows around him moved yet again, spinning and coiling around Quinn like a dozen snakes. Jarin rubbed his eyes. Merely a trick of the flickering candlelight.
“But you, Sir Jarin, have caught the eye of Lady Cristiana.”
Ignoring the leap of his heart, Jarin took a sip of wine. “Nay. The lady is far above me.”
“She looks at you as if her whole world depended on your smile.” Sorrow dragged down Quinn’s features as he stared into his empty cup.
“Forsooth!” Jarin laughed. “You have taken too much to your cups to see clearly. She tolerates me for my protection and escort home, for I have told her I am not a man inclined to wed.”
Quinn lifted his gaze. “So you have made her no promise?”
Dulcia set another mug full of wine onto the table and started to slide back onto Quinn’s lap, but he sent her away with a wave of his hand.
“Nay.” Then why did the thought sadden him? Even worse, why did it bring an odd smile to his friend’s lips and a shiver of alarm through Jarin? He shrugged it off and glanced over the dim room. Two patrons playing cards began shouting from their table in the far corner. Oddly, a strange darkness hovered over them both.
The bird in the cage shrieked. Swinging his gaze back to Quinn, Ja
rin rubbed his eyes. “Come now, you have land and fortune. Mayhap you have not been called to court, but surely you can catch the eye of a woman of good standing.”
Quinn gulped his wine, then fingered the mug, chin lowered. “The eye mayhap, but the empty coffers offer no incentive to wed.”
Jarin stared at him, confused. “Bosh, you jest! How now?”
“I grant you, I have land and a home, but, alas, no coin to my name.”
“Surely the crops from your land and rent you receive from your tenants provide a satisfactory income.”
“It would, had I not gambled it away playing dice and even now owe money to lenders, along with usury. I may have to forfeit a portion of the manor and mayhap even the house itself.”
Jarin pushed aside his mug and closed his eyes, his heart growing heavy at his friend’s lack of restraint. But hadn’t they bragged about such bold freedom when they were young? “That saddens me greatly, my friend.”
“I do not suppose you could loan me a sum.” Quinn looked up at him, sheepishly.
“Alas, I am as destitute as you at the moment, being no longer employed by the king.”
Nodding, Quinn tossed the remainder of his wine down his throat, then slammed his mug on the table, his head swaying as if battered by the wind from all sides. He raised his hand to draw the wench’s attention for more wine, but Jarin grabbed his wrist and lowered it.
“Mayhap you’ve had enough, my friend. Drink never solves such problems. Let’s be away to the manor. Are we not having a feast tonight?”
Nodding, Quinn allowed Jarin to assist him up. Back outside, he mounted his horse with difficulty, and they walked their palfreys the short distance to the manor house.
Once they had thought lives unencumbered by responsibility and rules would bring them the pleasure and adventure they sought. Yet all that life appeared to have brought Quinn was misfortune and sorrow.
And Jarin couldn’t help but wonder that, if he didn’t change his ways, would he end up like Quinn someday, alone and miserable?
♥♥♥
She Walks in Love (Protectors of the Spear Book 2) Page 18