Alas, the man was clearly drunk, which no doubt accounted for his behavior.
’Twas Lady Cristiana’s behavior that still had Jarin baffled. Women!
Spinning to face him, Quinn lost his balance and stumbled, shrugging off Jarin’s effort to help.
“I nearly forgot my reason for approaching you, Jarin,” he slurred out, blinking as if to clear his vision. “My guards have sighted a band of armed men approaching from the east.”
Alarm fired through Jarin, tightening every muscle. “Are you quite sure?”
“Aye. I’m away to check on it myself.” Quinn turned to leave but stumbled again.
“My friend.” Jarin gripped Quinn’s arm. “You’ve had far too much wine for that. I do not wish to find you fallen off your horse in a ditch come morning. I shall go. If I find them and they are heading this way, I’ll return forthwith, and the lady and I will leave immediately ere we bring trouble upon you.”
Quinn nodded. “You are a good friend, Jarin. I shall await your return.”
Smiling, Jarin doubted it. No doubt the man would be unconscious in less time than it took Jarin to saddle a horse.
♥♥♥
More flustered and unsure of herself than she’d been in a long while, Cristiana carefully pulled back the covers with one hand whilst she clung to Thebe in the other. Gently laying the girl down, she removed her shoes and loosened the ties of her gown. If she attempted to undress her, ’twould no doubt wake the babe, and sleep was the best thing for her right now. Instead, she placed her doll in her arms and covered her with the quilt.
The maid assigned to attend Cristiana laid out her night clothes over the back of a chair. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”
Cristiana sighed and rubbed her temples where an ache brewed. Mayhap a suit of armor impenetrable to the loving glances, heated touches, and insatiable allure of Sir Jarin the Just? Or better yet, a magic carpet that would fly her and Thebe back to Luxley posthaste so she wouldn’t be forced to spend another day with a man who stirred every pleasurable sensation within her.
Instead she said. “A bath. I should love a bath.”
“Aye, my lady.” The woman smiled, curtsied, and left the room. Indeed, never underestimate the power of a hot bath. A good soak never failed to clear her mind, set her resolve aright, and prepare her to face anything that came her way. Alas, mayhap that last thing was a wee bit of a stretch, but the rest were true enough.
Sweet angels, if it were the last thing she did, she would get her mind off Sir Jarin and back where it ought to be—avoiding the army that chased them, returning to Luxley as soon as possible, clearing her sister’s name, and regaining their estate. With the Spear’s help of course.
In preparation for the maids’ arrival, she gathered up her skirts and began untying the binding around her thigh that kept the powerful artifact in place and hidden from all who sought it. Releasing it, she lifted it to a candle. ’Twas but the tip of a once mighty spearhead—a Roman spear, the one that had stabbed the side of Christ. Or so they said. Yet, after what she’d seen of its power, she had no doubt the tales were true. Black stained the very tip, and she dared rub her finger over it, praying ’twas not sacrilegious to do so. To think it might be the actual blood of their Savior.
She shivered and held it to her bosom, tears filling her eyes. “Holy Lord, you have allowed me the great privilege of protecting your Spear, the wonderful joy of experiencing its power…” She gazed down at it again. “And yet you abandon me in every other way.” Mayhap she was not worthy of the love of One so great, the Creator, the one true God.
A knock on the door preceded two men carrying in a large wooden tub, followed by a string of maids with buckets of steaming water. The men set the tub before the fire and left immediately, not daring to glance her way, whilst the maids filled it nearly to the top and deposited soap and towels on a nearby chair.
“May I help you undress, my lady?” the maid asked.
“Nay. That will be all.”
Once the last maid left, Cristiana wrapped the Spear inside its binding and set it on the mantel between a brass candlestick and a painted bowl. Candlelight shifted over the mark on her wrist, and she rubbed it. Still there after all this time. How long would she be the Spear’s protector? Quickly disrobing, she stepped into the tub and sank into the warm waters, allowing them to steal the chill from her bones and the grime from her skin. Leaning back on the hard wood, she released a sigh and listened to the crackle of the fire and the wind whisking past the shuttered window. The feast must have ended, for she could no longer hear the minstrel’s songs or the chatter of guests.
What she did hear were footsteps outside her door, followed by the dull creak as it opened.
“I need naught else.” She waved over her shoulder at the intruding maid. “Prithee, leave me.”
The footsteps continued.
Annoyed, Cristiana opened her eyes and turned to face the servant.
But it wasn’t a servant. Or even a woman.
It was Lord Quinn with a sly grin on his face that would frighten the most valiant warrior.
Chapter 25
Jarin slowed his gelding and patted him on the neck as he made his way down the dusty road. He’d galloped at least three miles in both directions and had not seen so much as a horse-drawn dray, let alone a band of armed soldiers. Either the troop had made camp somewhere for the night, or Quinn’s scout had been seeing things.
Still, the possibility of being discovered by the bishop’s men reminded Jarin that they must be on their way anon, first thing in the morning as planned. He had wanted to stay and help his good friend, cheer him up, offer an idea or two to pay off his debts, get him on the right path. But from Quinn’s present disposition, that would take far too long. Besides, who was Jarin to offer advice? For he lived his life in much the same carefree manner as his friend.
Turning the horse down the path that led to Savoy Manor, Jarin kept his ear tuned to hear the slightest thump of horses’ hooves or the murmur of voices in the night, but all he heard was the dance of wind through the leaves, the distant warble of a night heron, and the thud of his gelding stomping down the road.
A quarter moon coated the grassy fields in milky light and transformed a nearby pond into liquid silver. Even so, shadows gathered amid clusters of trees and bushes and hovered around country homes and barns. Jarin drew a deep breath, relishing in the fresh scent that always came with the night—pine, moss, a hint of lavender, and the hope of a new day on the morrow.
He also relished a moment alone, away from the dissipation of his friend, the clamor of the manor, and the responsibility that sat heavy on his shoulders for the protection and care of Lady Cristiana and Thebe. Out in the countryside with only his sword and horse for companions, he felt free again, unfettered by the restrictions of society, the expectations of man, the commands of those above him—especially a God who demanded much more than Jarin was willing to give.
Then why was he heading back toward the manor, that dark structure he now saw sitting atop a hill, two flaming torches winking at him from the front gate? Winking at him, indeed, as if taunting him, daring him to return instead of prodding his horse into a gallop in the opposite direction. Freedom!
Freedom from whatever spell Lady Cristiana had cast upon him. For no other woman had ever made him consider—even for the briefest of moments—what it would be like to settle down with wife and child. Bosh! Had he lost his mind? ’Twas the one thing he had vowed never to do, never bind himself so tightly to another that he could not do as he pleased, when he pleased. Yet ’twas much more than that, for to truly love someone would mean his certain destruction when they were taken from him. And taken from them they would be, as had happened with his father, then his mother, and finally his sister. Everyone he had ever loved.
Thus, he had vowed never to allow himself to love a woman with the intensity he’d heard about in ballads and seen in friends—the kind of love that drove a man mad and
forced him to give up everything for his lady. ’Twas far better to engage in harmless trysts now and then whene’re the mood struck.
Then why, again, was he nearing Savoy Manor? He smiled. Because he could do naught else. Fool!
The front gate creaked open, and an old lady emerged, torchlight accentuating the lines on her face. She waddled as fast as she could up to Jarin.
“Sir Knight, Sir Knight!”
Halting his horse, he dismounted, annoyed at the interruption to his thoughts.
“How may I help you, mistress?” He nodded at the guard standing before the gate, then led the gelding through into the inner court. The woman scurried by his side and yanked on his arm to halt him.
“Your lady is in trouble, sir. You must make haste to her. There isn’t much time.”
♥♥♥
Every nerve screaming in terror, Cristiana scrunched her body as close to the side of the tub as she could.
“How dare you, Lord Quinn! I insist you leave at once!” She still clung to the hope that he was so inebriated, he’d mistaken her door for another. One…two…
That hope spilled to the floor with the water sloshing over the edge of the tub as he continued his approach, eyes that were no longer glazed focusing intently upon her.
“I have no intention of harming you, my lady.” His voice was ripe with desire.
Heart crashing against her chest, Cristiana glanced first at Thebe, praying that no matter what occurred, the child would not wake, then over to the towels set upon a chair just out of her reach. Three…four…
“No harm, you say?” She drew her sopping hair over her shoulder to cover her chest and glared up at him. “I believe you have every intention of doing me harm, of taking that which I do not offer.”
He circled the tub, peering into the water where he ought not. And all the while grinning like he’d won a tournament prize. “You are truly a vision. And if you choose to offer, ’twill go much better for both of us.”
“I would rather be strung up and flayed,” she spat out, tears filling her eyes.
Reaching into the water he snatched a handful of her hair and wrenched her up.
Pain seared through her scalp. She screeched and gripped the side of the tub, doing her best to keep her body covered. Five…six… It wasn’t working! Her terror only grew.
He released her, and she sank back beneath the water.
“If you leave now, I will not speak of this to Jarin.” A sob escaped her.
With a humph, he turned to glance toward the fire. “You think I fear him? Jarin the Just!” He spat out the name, ere his tone turned mocking. “Women always chose Jarin over me. Oh, how the ladies adore him! And now he has achieved knighthood and a King’s Guard at that. Jarin! With the ear of the king.” He laughed. “But of course. Everything comes easy for him.”
Whilst the man blustered on about Jarin, Cristiana inched along the side of the tub toward the stack of towels. If only she could reach one, it would at least provide a small barrier to his violating gaze. Numb with fear, she reached over the tub, her fingers nearly touching the cloth.
He pivoted and slapped her hand away.
She sank back. “You’re jealous of him! ’Tis what this is all about?”
Fury flamed in his eyes as they narrowed and scanned her body once again. “And now he has won a true lady’s affections. Do you think a man like Jarin can love you?” He cocked his head and fingered his beard. “Do you think he will wed you? Bah! Don’t be a fool. He is but playing with your affections, my lady.” Shrugging, he unbuckled his belt and tossed it aside, then removed his blue tunic.
Cristiana couldn’t breathe. Her blood pulsed. Her fingers tingled. “I will scream. Sir Jarin will hear me. Your servants will hear!”
He smiled yet again. “I do hate to disappoint you, my lady, but my servants have been instructed to ignore any clamor emanating from your chamber. And Sir Jarin? I believe he is away from the manor in search of a phantom army.”
What was left of Cristiana’s hope sank to the bottom of the tub as a terror like none she’d known consumed her. “Why? What do you hope to gain?”
“I will have at least one thing that belongs to him.” Lord Quinn swept off his undershirt, leaving only linen breeches. Before he fully faced her again, she spotted clusters of red rashes covering his back from his neck to his waist. She’d seen the condition before. ’Twas one caused by engaging in relations with too many partners. And now he would give the illness to her. She glanced at the Spear sitting atop the mantel, wishing she had not removed it. Oh, Lord, if you’re there, prithee help me!
“Come, my lady.” Quinn held out his hand. “Step out of the water, if you please.”
“I beg you one favor, my lord.”
He eyed her curiously.
“Do not harm the child.” Though she had tried to hold them back, at the mention of Thebe, tears spilled down her cheeks.
He cast a quick glance toward the bed and a wry smile curled his lips. “You have my troth on one condition. Do not wake her with your screams.”
Cristiana nodded and moved toward the edge of the tub, uttering the only thing left for her to say. “Sir Jarin will kill you for this.”
♥♥♥
Jarin charged into the main hall and up the spiral stairway, as tense as he’d ever been before any battle. The old woman had not told him where to find Lady Cristiana, hence he headed toward her chamber. Voices drifted through her door, calm voices. Could the woman have been wrong? Mayhap even mad? Halting, he listened, intending to knock since ’twas obvious Cristiana was awake. Then he heard Quinn’s voice and a woman’s sob, and without hesitation, he drew his sword and burst into the room.
Lady Cristiana sat in a bath, reaching her hand toward an unclad Quinn, intending to rise. And from what he could tell, with nary a stitch of clothing on!
They betray you! Leave at once! A voice, not his own, shouted inside of him.
But then Cristiana turned toward him, her breath coming fast, and tears streaming down her cheeks. Terror screamed from her eyes until they focused on him, and she uttered his name as if it was the answer to all her prayers.
Quinn withdrew his outstretched hand, his eyes widening as he took a step back.
“What goes on here?” Jarin finally said, his gaze shifting between them. Alas, he needed no explanation, for he could see it written on his friend’s face. He charged him, leveling his sword at his bare chest. “You dare ravish my lady! What devilment is this?”
Quinn merely stared at him, the fear in his eyes transforming into anger and then… hatred? But that couldn’t be. Once again, dark shadows swirled about his friend, faster and faster, spinning about his ears as if whispering into them.
The sound of water moving brought his gaze to Lady Cristiana. Her bare shoulders glistened in the candlelight as her creamy flesh blurred beneath the water. He quickly averted his eyes. “My lady, are you harmed?”
Quinn grabbed a candlestick from the mantel and slammed it against Jarin’s sword, knocking it to the floor with a mighty clank.
Cursing himself for allowing a moment of distraction, Jarin charged Quinn, clutched his neck in a choke hold, and shoved him against the stone wall. “How dare you, you craven wastrel!”
Thebe began to cry.
Water sloshed behind him, followed by the pad of footsteps.
Quinn’s eyes peered over Jarin’s shoulder, but he slammed his fist on the fiend’s cheek, forcing his gaze away.
Freeing one of his arms, Quinn slugged Jarin in the gut.
Bending over, Jarin backed away, all the while breathing out, “If ’tis a fight you want, Quinn, ’tis a fight you will get.”
♥♥♥
With Thebe’s cries spurring her on, and with both men distracted, Cristiana took the opportunity to ease from the tub, grab her nightdress, and dart for the bed.
Slipping on her shift, she jumped onto the bed and drew Thebe into her arms. “There, there, darling. ’Tis all right.” Th
ough she had no idea if that was true. She clutched the girl to her chest and watched as Quinn punched Jarin hard in the stomach, sending the knight reeling backward.
Of course they’d be all right. She’d seen Jarin subdue two armed soldiers. Surely he could handle a profligate like Quinn. Alack, the man was his friend! Would that make a difference?
She was shaking. Uncontrollably. And not from the cold. She drew a breath in an effort to steady her nerves when Quinn charged Jarin like a bull intent on breaking through a barn door. Together the men fell backward against the bed post, shaking the bed, and eliciting more cries from Thebe.
Cristiana rubbed the little girl’s back and held her face against her chest to keep her from witnessing the brutality. “You are safe, Thebe. Jarn will protect us.”
Sir Jarin pushed Quinn and slammed his fist across his jaw. Head spinning, Quinn stumbled backward.
“Why, Quinn, why?” Jarin shouted.
Quinn wiped blood from his lips and smiled. “Why not?” He swung at Jarin, but Jarin ducked, spun, and punched his friend in the side.
Moaning, Quinn growled, picked up a vase from a table and tossed it at Jarin. The knight leapt out of the way, and it crashed against the wall.
“Jarn!” Thebe shouted, drawing his gaze.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, Quinn gathered Jarin’s blade and pointed it at his chest, breath heaving, and his eyes full of burning malice.
Cristiana gasped.
“Now what?” Jarin spread out his hands. “Are you to murder me, my friend?”
In a move nigh too fast to see, Jarin grabbed a towel, flung it around the blade, and jerked it from Quinn’s hands. It flew into the corner.
With a mighty growl, Quinn charged Jarin, but the knight braced for the impact, grabbed Quinn by the arms, and shoved him aside.
Still he came, eyes crazed as if he’d gone mad. This time he plucked a knife from Jarin’s belt and pointed it at his heart, a maniacal laugh spilling from his lips.
Cristiana drew Thebe closer, begging God for mercy.
Not a speck of fear appeared on Jarin’s face as he studied his friend. “Lay down the knife, Quinn, and be gone. You are clearly outmatched.”
She Walks in Love (Protectors of the Spear Book 2) Page 20