Quinn snorted. “Yet I’m the one holding a knife to your chest.”
Jarin released a heavy sigh. Lifting his arm up to block the knife, he struck Quinn in the gut and kicked his feet out from beneath him. The knife flew from his hand as his head bashed against the tub with a thwunk. He toppled to the floor.
Jarin caught the knife in midair.
Cristiana allowed herself to breathe.
Dismissing the fiend with a wave, Jarin turned to face them, his concerned eyes searching over Cristiana, no doubt for wounds.
Behind him, Quinn struggled to rise.
Jarin started toward the bed. Quinn rushed Jarin.
“Behind you, Jarin!” she yelled.
Wheeling about, Jarin caught the man, spun him around and held the knife to his throat. Blood trickled down Quinn’s neck.
“Nay, Jarin. Nay!” Cristiana shrieked. No matter what Quinn had done, she did not wish him to die, nor for his death to haunt Sir Jarin the rest of his life.
Thebe began to wail.
Chest heaving, Jarin faced them, knife still pressed against Quinn’s throat. Determined fury burned in his eyes, the likes of which she’d never seen in the knight before. But slowly the features of his face loosened, and he lowered his hand. Shoving Quinn aside, he opened the door. “Leave while you still have your life.”
Much to Cristiana’s relief, Quinn cast one last glance toward her, then stumbled out of the chamber.
She dared not to feel safe until Jarin’s strong arms wrapped around her and Thebe—iron bands of strength and comfort. He said not a word, just squeezed tight as his warm breath came hard and fast, flooding them with his scent. Cristiana leaned her head against his chest, finding comfort in the feel of his heart thumping over her cheek. He had saved her. He had come at just the right moment and saved her. Two minutes… ’twas all that had stood between her rescue and losing her maidenhead in the most horrific way possible.
“Prithee, tell me this isn’t a dream,” she finally whispered, fearing that indeed she was being accosted at that very moment, and her mind had transported her elsewhere.
His chuckle rumbled through his chest. “If so, then real pain and blood invade my dreams.”
“You are hurt?” Cristiana pushed from him, searching him in the candlelight and finally seeing blood staining his sleeve. “The knife. It sliced you.”
“Jarn!” Thebe’s sobbing having finally stopped, she freed from Cristiana’s tight embrace and crawled into Jarin’s lap. “You save us.” She nestled against his chest as if she could burrow inside of him.
Cristiana well understood the desire.
He wrapped his wounded arm around the babe, while keeping the other around Cristiana, and drew them both close. He kissed the top of their heads, the action softening every hard place in Cristiana’s heart.
“Prithee, forgive me for bringing you here. I thought…I believed he was…we were friends once.”
Cristiana lifted her gaze to his. “’Tis not your fault, Sir Jarin. How could you have known?” She searched his eyes, finding a mixture of sorrow and something else she dared not hope for within them. “I gave him no encouragement, I hope you know—”
He pressed a finger on her lips. “I do.”
Thebe lifted her face to Jarin’s. “You brave, Jarn. Strong.”
He tapped her on the nose. “Only so I can protect you.”
His affection for the child nearly sent tears to Cristiana’s eyes once again. Good tears this time.
She glanced toward the tub and a shudder ran through her. “He was so jealous of you.”
“Alas, I had no idea.” Reaching up, he placed a finger beneath her chin and forced her gaze back to him. “Forgive me for not being here. Quinn sent me on a fool’s errand to keep me away. Beshrew me, I was a halfwit to believe him.” His jaw tightened.
“But you came in time. How could you have possibly known?”
He shook his head and released a sigh. “An old woman stopped me outside the gate. Told me you were in danger.”
“An old woman?”
“Aye. I’ll grant you, I never saw her before. No doubt one of the servants.”
Cristiana thought of the woman in the garden. “Wrinkled skin, two missing teeth?”
“Aye, that’s the one. Do you know her?” He gave her a quizzical look.
“Nay. Thebe and I met her earlier in the garden. She seemed…she seemed different. I cannot explain. She healed the prick on Thebe’s finger.”
Jarin flinched. “Odd, that.” He glanced down at the child and smiled. “I believe she’s fallen back to sleep.”
Cristiana smiled. “She trusts you.”
Jarin swallowed as if overcome by the thought, but then gently handed Thebe back to Cristiana.
Sorrow swept over Cristiana as she lowered the girl back onto the bed and drew the covers about her. “She’s been through so much.”
“As have you.”
The kindness in his voice turned her to face him yet again. He sat on the bed just inches from her, his eyes searching hers. She missed the feel of his arms around her, the only place she’d ever felt truly safe. Yet mayhap ’twas a false sense of safety, for Sir Jarin was a mere human with human failings.
Yet the way he’d protected them, the way he gazed at her now made her wonder if he weren’t some mighty angel sent to watch over her.
He ran the back of his fingers over her cheek, tenderly, lovingly. “Did he harm you?”
She lowered her chin, embarrassed. “Nay. Merely terrified me.” She looked up. “How can I ever thank you?”
A shiver ran through her. He must have noticed, for he drew her back into his arms, and she wished more than life itself that this man would love her…and love her forever.
Leaning her head on his powerful chest, she prayed the man’s courage and strength would leech onto her, make her independent, in need of no one. Like him. Then no one would ever abandon her again. Alas, she was naught but a weak coward, so unlike her sister, the mighty warrior.
Against her better judgment, she glanced up at him, his trimmed beard tickling her forehead. He smelled of sweat, spice, and Jarin. And God help her, she wanted more of him.
He gently cupped her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers.
Chapter 26
Jarin knew he should not kiss Cristiana, knew no promise existed between them, knew she’d most likely slap him again for attempting such liberties. But ahh, he found the lady beyond irresistible, especially the way she was looking at him—as if he were the king himself, as if she admired him, trusted him, believed in him. As no one else ever had.
His lips floated above hers, waiting for her to strike him, but there was no shriek of indignation, no shove against his chest, no sting on his cheek. Instead, she touched his mouth with her own, parting her lips to receive him. Sweetness and ecstasy! He drank her in, relishing in her mesmerizing taste—more delicious than any fine wine. Wrapping his arms around her, he pressed her closer, realizing at that moment she wore naught but a nightdress. Bosh! Making it all the more difficult to restrain his growing passions, in truth a skill he had not honed these past years. But he must.
The lady, however, was not cooperating in that endeavor. Clinging to him, she moaned and continued the kiss with more passion than he’d expect from a maiden, a wonderful surprise from a lady who was so oft full of them. Finally, she withdrew and slid her cheek against his. Her breath rushed past his ear in a whiff of desire as she uttered his Christian name, “Jarin.”
“Cristiana.” Jarin took her face once again in his hands and gazed into her eyes, delighted at the passion he found there. A sudden urge to profess his love to her, swear his fealty forever to this lady, rose upon his lips. But he swallowed it down.
He kissed her yet again, gently this time, seductively, drunk with the heady sensation of her. She allowed him to caress her neck, run fingers through her hair, and deepen the kiss until he was mad with the need for her, never wanting the moment to
end.
But end it must. And by his will. Bah! Why had she not slapped him?!
With every ounce of restraint within him, he withdrew, released her, and leapt from the bed.
She looked up at him, her chestnut hair tumbling over her shoulders to the coverlet, her eyes shimmering, her lips swollen and moist from their kiss.
And nearly every curve evident through her nightdress.
How much was a man supposed to take? Jarin snapped his gaze away. “Get dressed, my lady, and then wake Thebe. We must leave this place posthaste.”
As if just realizing her state of undress, she crossed arms over her chest and nodded.
Then before he took her in his arms again, Jarin retrieved his sword from the corner, sheathed it, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Leaning back against it, he kept a keen eye down the corridor in both directions should Quinn make another attempt. He’d be a fool to challenge Jarin again, but then he’d been a fool to do so in the first place.
Jarin examined the wound on his arm in the rushlight perched on the wall. The cut wasn’t deep and would heal anon, but the cut to his heart was another matter. His friend—his good friend—had betrayed him in the worst possible way. He could make no sense of it, this jealousy Lady Cristiana spoke of. Quinn was lord of a manor, while Jarin was naught but a fallen knight without a groat to his name.
Jarin shook his head. There were no words to describe his fury when he’d seen Quinn about to ravish Lady Cristiana! He’d wanted to kill his friend, punish him for his betrayal. And he would have if the very lady the man would have despoiled had not begged him to stop.
He squeezed the bridge of his nose where exhaustion threatened to close his eyes. Through the door, he heard the lady donning her attire, and his mind went to where it ought not—to her unclad body in the water and then to the curves beneath her nightshift. His body reacted and he shoved the visions away. He must not defile the lady so with his thoughts. She was worth much more than that. Her and the precious child.
Holding them close on the bed, comforting and protecting them until their trembling ceased, had done odd things to his insides, evoked feelings of love and family, of being the protector and provider of such precious creatures.
He ground his teeth together. Nay! He must be more careful. His plans did not include a mundane life of responsibility. Nor did they include risking the loss of one he loved with all his heart.
Scattering thoughts of the lady, he focused on the mission at hand—leave Savoy Manor at once and make their way to Luxley Castle posthaste. They had but two or three days left on their journey. Once there, he would forfeit the responsibility of Lady Cristiana and Thebe to her sister and Ronar. And once again gain his freedom.
♥♥♥
With Jarin’s kiss still ripe on her lips and the scent of him rising from her skin, Cristiana busied herself donning the layers of her clothing. Tears trickled unbidden down her cheeks, and she kept batting them away, unsure whether their appearance was due to nearly being ravished or to Sir Jarin’s abrupt behavior after their kiss. He had looked away with such disgust, she could only believe he either found her distasteful or inexperienced. Or both.
In truth, she had never kissed a man like that before. Had never allowed a man such liberties. And she in her nightdress! Sweet angels! What had she been thinking? But she hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d been feeling—wonderful, glorious feelings of being swept away into another world where she was loved, cherished, and protected. Did such love truly exist? The kind that filled one’s heart with so much joy that naught else could fit inside? The kind that loved without condition, gave without expectation, and stayed forever and ever? Mayhap that was a love that only existed in dreams and ballads.
She was a fool. A fool with no strength to resist a man who had made it plain he would never wed. ’Twas no wonder God was disappointed in her, in her constant cowardice and weakness, her shameful behavior.
She slipped on her surcote and tied up the laces, glancing at Thebe still asleep on the bed. She hated to wake her, but she must. Cristiana had no desire to stay at Savoy a second longer, nor to face Lord Quinn after what he’d done.
As it was, it took little effort to stir the child from her sleep and get her dressed. No doubt she was still unnerved from the battle she’d witnessed.
“Where going?” Thebe asked, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
Cristiana slipped on the girl’s shoes. “Away from here. To a safe place.”
“With Jarn?” The little girl’s pleading blue eyes stared up at Cristiana.
“Aye. With Jarn.”
This seemed to satisfy the little girl as she leapt from the bed and stood waiting whilst Cristiana made her way to the mantel for the Spear.
It wasn’t there.
Panicked, she searched the entire mantel, groping around the brass candlestick and painted bowl. She’d put it there. She was sure of it, wrapped in its binding.
Heart thundering, she glanced down over the hearth, the floor. Nothing. Had it fallen somewhere during the fight? She grabbed a candle and dropped to her knees, peering under the chairs and in the corners.
“What looking for, Cristi?” Thebe approached.
“Nothing, darling. Just something I misplaced.”
A rap sounded on the door, followed by Sir Jarin’s voice. “Are you ready, my lady? We must leave posthaste.”
Leaping to her feet, Cristiana rushed to open the door. “I can’t find the Spear,” she said ere Jarin could utter a word.
He marched into the room. “Where did you last see it?”
“I removed it so I could bathe…” Her glance took in the tub of water and a shudder overcame her. “I wrapped it in a cloth and set it atop the mantel.”
Grabbing another candle, Sir Jarin joined the search, and together they scoured every inch of the chamber, tossing quilts off the bed, searching the wardrobe, the chair cushions, even beneath the rug.
Finally standing, Sir Jarin rubbed his chin. “Could Quinn have taken it?”
Cristiana shook her head, panic gripping her. “Nay. Why would he? He has no idea what it is or even that it was here.”
Sir Jarin cast a quick glance at Thebe, who stared up at him with admiration. “We cannot stay here.”
“I cannot leave without it. ’Tis what protects us. ’Tis what my sister needs to defeat Sir Walter and the bishop. I know that now. I should never have left Luxley with it in my possession.” She closed her eyes in defeat. “And now I have lost it.” She glanced at her wrist where the mark of the Spear remained. If God had deemed another protector more worthy, surely the mark would have disappeared.
Jarin released a heavy sigh. “Mayhap one of the maids took it.”
“Nay. I placed it on the mantel after they left.” Cristiana glanced over the room, tears blurring her vision.
Jarin reached for her hand and took it in his, giving it a squeeze that did more to comfort her than he realized. “I will ask Quinn.”
“Nay. He will fight you again.”
Jarin gave a half smile. “Not if he has any of his wits remaining.”
Thebe reached for him. “Stay, Jarn.”
He knelt before her. “I will return anon, little one. Never fear.” He tapped her on the nose, then stood and headed for the open door.
The old woman appeared in the entryway, gray hair springing from her cap, dirt smudging her skirt, and a smile on her cracked lips, revealing two missing teeth.
Jarin halted. “You.”
“Aye, ’tis me, handsome knight.” Her smile widened as her gaze shifted to Cristiana and then to Thebe. “Are ye missing something?” She held out her hand to reveal the Spear’s binding folded neatly in her palm.
Cristiana darted for her. “Where…how?” Taking it from the woman, she gently unwrapped the cloth and breathed a sigh of relief when the Spear tip glowed in the candlelight. She gazed at the woman, who still had a smile on her face. “I don’t understand.”
&nb
sp; Moving inside the chamber, the old woman glanced around, laid a hand upon Thebe’s head and smiled, ere facing Cristiana again. “Had to protect it, you see. It would have been found. But He wants you to have it. For now.”
Sir Jarin studied the old woman but said not a word.
“Who?” Cristiana folded the cloth around the Spear once again and held it tightly in her hand.
The old woman approached and wrapped her hands around Cristiana’s. Though the skin around her eyes resembled aged parchment, within those shining orbs lived a volume of wisdom, knowledge, peace, and love, the likes of which Cristiana had never seen.
“The power lives within you, child. Where God is. Not in a scrap of metal.” Then releasing her, the woman winked at Jarin and headed toward the door. Before she reached it, she began to fade…slowly…slowly…until suddenly she was no more.
They all stood there for several seconds, staring after her. Cristiana blinked, wondering if exhaustion had finally consumed her senses. Jarin rushed to the door and glanced both ways down the corridor.
“Angel,” Thebe said, smiling.
Jarin faced her.
“Angel,” she repeated.
“How?” Jarin shifted his confused gaze to Cristiana. “I know not what just happened, but we must leave. Now.”
Stuffing the Spear in the pocket of her tunic, Cristiana nodded, grabbed their sacks, took Thebe’s hand in hers, and followed Jarin out the door. The rushlights along the stairway had long since gone out, leaving them to grope their way down each tread until they reached the bottom. In the flickering light of a dwindling fire, she spotted servants lying scattered over the main hall floor, curled up in blankets, whilst shadows shifted over the walls like ghoulish specters.
“I’m scared,” Thebe said, and ere Cristiana could lift her into her arms, Jarin turned and hoisted her into his, chipping away yet again at the barricade Cristiana attempted to erect around her heart.
They crept around the snoring servants and made their way to the main hall door.
The eerie chink of a sword echoed through the chamber. From whence, they could not determine.
She Walks in Love (Protectors of the Spear Book 2) Page 21