She Walks in Love (Protectors of the Spear Book 2)

by Marylu Tyndall

  “He tickles, Cristi!”

  Cristiana smiled. “Do put him down to join his friends. We wouldn’t want him to get lost.”

  Frowning, the little girl did as she was told, then scooted closer to Cristiana and turned her back to her. “Like we are? I still hungry.”

  Sorrow stole the joy of the moment. “Nay. We are not lost. We will soon be home.” She began combing Thebe’s hair.

  “My home?”

  “Your new home, darling.” Cristiana leaned down to kiss her cheek then resumed her combing.

  “Ouch!” Thebe jerked forward, her hand flying to her head.

  “I’m sorry.” Cristiana sighed. “Come. I’ll be gentler.” How the little girl’s hair could become such a mass of tangles in one day was beyond her.

  The rustling of leaves sounded, followed by footsteps, spiking alarm through Cristiana that instantly softened when Sir Jarin’s tall figure appeared, bearing a pouch of water, a handful of some sort of treasure, and a smile on his face that would suffocate her if she allowed it.

  She wouldn’t. She continued combing Thebe’s hair, but the little girl shot to her feet and darted toward the knight, who once again knelt to take her in his arms. He squeezed her tight, the look on his face—one of pure joy—warmed everything within Cristiana. But then his expression changed, and something akin to sorrow followed by frustration trampled his features ere he nudged the girl back and stood. His eyes grazed over Cristiana, a myriad of unidentifiable emotions swirling within them. Approaching, he handed her the pouch of water and assisted her to her feet.

  “’Tis all I could find.” He opened his hand to reveal a dozen or so walnuts, already removed from their shells.

  “Take what you want, Sir Jarin, and give the rest to Thebe.” Cristiana knelt to give the girl water.

  “You need your strength as well, my lady, if you are to care for her.” He lowered to sit upon a fallen tree and plopped a nut into his mouth ere handing one to Thebe.

  “I ate a nectarine,” Cristiana replied, taking a swig of water.

  Thebe sat cross-legged on the dirt beside Jarin and happily consumed the nuts he handed her, the remainder of them, from what Cristiana could see. So, the knight did have a tender spot for the child. Against her will, she smiled. Jarin must have noticed for he rose and went to tend their horses. “We should leave posthaste and find a safe place to sleep and food to eat.”

  Thebe promptly stood and followed him. “Still hungry, Jarn.” She clung to his breeches and gazed up at him as if he were a king and could produce a feast with a snap of his fingers.

  “Come, Thebe, leave Sir Jarin alone.” Cristiana beckoned to the girl, but she was having none of it. And despite his odd behavior when he’d held her moments ago, he reached down and gathered the girl in his arms. Giggling, she nestled against him as he brushed curls from her face. “Soon, little one. We will eat again soon.” Then setting her down before Cristiana, he tapped her on the nose. “Allow Lady Cristiana to finish combing your hair. A princess must look her best ere she travels.”

  Beaming from ear to ear and nodding her assent, Thebe sat back down before Cristiana with the obedience of a saint.

  Cristiana frowned, lowered to her knees, and began combing the girl’s hair again. If Sir Jarin intended to leave them after he brought them to Luxley, or worse, ignore them once his mission was completed, ’twould not do for Thebe to become so attached. Why, the girl gazed at him as if he were her father! And Cristiana did not wish to see the dear child’s heart broken.

  Nor did she wish to see her own suffer such a fate.

  Thus, she did her best to ignore Sir Jarin as he poured water for the horses to drink and readied them to continue the journey.

  Once back on the trail, she continued in her attempts to not stare at the knight, to not admire the way he sat tall in his saddle, his hand ready on the pommel of his sword, alert eyes scanning their surroundings, ear cocked for any sound of danger. ’Twas all for her and Thebe’s protection, for he was not the one the bishop and Sir Walter sought. No doubt he had not expected such trouble when he agreed to the mission. Then why did he not abandon her like everyone else in her life had done?

  They urged the horses into a gallop, which they maintained for most of the morning ere alternating betwixt a trot and walk. Sir Jarin made no attempt at conversation, merely glanced occasionally at Cristiana and Thebe, offering a glimmer of a smile and an unreadable emotion on his face.

  Cristiana fought the exhaustion threatening to topple her from the horse as the world flew past in a blur of greens, blues, and browns, blasting her with wind tainted with the scents of fresh grass, wildflowers, and horseflesh. When she dared to close her eyes for a mere moment, the sun dappled light over her eyelids as it rose to its crest and enveloped her in a blanket of warmth before it began to sink again. Now, as it sat a hand’s breath over the western horizon, Cristiana drew a deep breath and shook her head in an effort to keep awake.

  “There’s a village up ahead. We will stop there for the night, my lady.” Jarin’s tone was one of deep concern, and it caused her to open her eyes fully and glance his way.

  He studied her. “I grant you, I have never met a woman as strong as you, nor one who did not perforce shower me with idle chatter or complaints, the latter of which you have every right.”

  A compliment? Indeed, it took Cristiana aback for a moment. “I dare not ask what type of ladies you normally associate with.” Her tone was mocking, defying the warmth his words spread throughout her.

  “None like you, I assure you.” He directed his gaze forward again.

  Smoke rose from a small cluster of buildings up ahead as they slowed their horses to a walk.

  “Do you believe the bishop’s men have lost our trail?”

  “I can only hope, my lady.”

  “Yet you have seen no hint of them this day.”

  “Nay.” He faced her again. “You have the Spear?”

  “Aye. Bound to my leg once again.”

  He glanced at Thebe, asleep in Cristiana’s arms. “What do you make of the old woman?”

  The aged lady who had appeared and disappeared at will, healed Thebe’s finger, and brought back the Spear to Cristiana? How the relic had come into her possession, Cristiana could not fathom. “Thebe said she was an angel.”

  Jarin snorted. “Thebe is two years old. Mere fantasies of a child.”

  His lack of faith irked her sorely. “It may surprise you to know, Sir Jarin, that innocent children oft see things in the Spirit ere the world infects them with its logic and deflates their hope.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “But an angel? Bosh, I’d sooner believe she was one of Quinn’s spies.”

  “Would Quinn give me back the Spear if he knew the power it possessed?” Nor would a mere servant speak as the woman had. The power lives within you, child. Where God is. Not in a piece of metal, she had said with such assurance and love, Cristiana had no alternative but to believe she was not from this world. Still, the message niggled her, poking and prodding her weak faith, making her uncomfortable even now as she pondered it.

  They rode on, nearing the village. Though the light from the sun was still bright, not a single person was in sight, no farmers working in the fields, no wagons carrying goods into and out of the village, no town criers could be heard, no laborers or travelers moving about.

  Something was amiss.

  Jarin grabbed the reins of Cristiana’s horse and halted both animals.

  “Pray, what is it?” she asked.

  Jarin’s bearded jaw stiffened as he scanned their surroundings. “’Tis the smell of death.”

  Chapter 29

  Cedric flung his black robe behind him and dismounted his steed, Demon. The horse panted, foam cresting around his mouth from the mad pace Cedric had maintained all day. He patted the animal’s neck and led him to the stream trickling past the narrow road.

  “Drink, my vile one. Rest awhile, but not for long.”

&nb
sp; Nay, not for long. For Cedric could smell Lady Cristiana’s innocence polluting the air like an insidious disease. The odor nauseated him, but it meant they were not far. His elixir and a still pond had shown him they were in a manor house. He’d sent his ravens to discover which one.

  Kneeling, he cupped water to his mouth, then wiped his chin with his sleeve. Devil’s worts! By the time the birds had returned and led him to Savoy Manor, Jarin and the lady were gone. Just left, that nimbycock Lord Quinn had said. ’Twas the last thing he’d said, for Cedric had cast a spell upon him which stole his voice. He smiled at the memory of the man holding his throat and attempting to speak, but no sound emerged.

  Why had Cedric done it? Merely for the enjoyment, for he found this current quest rather dull and tedious.

  Demon finished drinking, shook his head, and walked to a spot to eat some grass. Meanwhile, Cedric examined the creek for any areas of still water in which he could spread his elixir. He found naught but a bubbling happy creek, which only increased his anger.

  There had been one moment of amusement in the otherwise tiresome chase. The last time he’d stared into the water in search of Lady Cristiana, he’d seen the bishop and his father’s men at Savoy Manor questioning that dolt Lord Quinn. When the man had been unable to answer them, an old woman appeared and sent them down the road in the opposite direction from where Sir Jarin and Lady Cristiana had gone. Pribbling puttocks! To think these were trained soldiers!

  Cedric uttered a foul curse and laughed. No matter. He would be the one to capture the loathsome knight and his fair lady. He would be the one to bring them back to Drago and Father. He would be the one to win his master’s favor and another rodent tongue to add to his badge.

  Sir Jarin the Dust—as Cedric liked to call him—had ridden the lady and child all night and all day. Surely his chivalry would not allow him to continue but would force him to seek out shelter and food for his weaker travelers. “Chivalry, pish!” A waste of time if you asked him.

  Rising, he walked to Demon and drew his wolf pouch from his pack. He untied it and peered inside, reaching in for a few specks of dark dust. He could not afford to waste it, but two would do nicely.

  Flinging them into the air, he uttered the ancient words Drago had taught him. The specks of dust drifted down, slowly growing and gyrating, twisting and turning, taking shape and form and substance. By the time they hit the dirt, two black wolves stared at Cedric, baring sharp fangs and growling with an anger he knew not from whence it originated. No doubt the dark pit from which they came.

  “Go, my pets! Go find Jarin the Dust and his lady. But do them no harm. Leave that to me.”

  ♥♥♥

  Sir Jarin was right about one thing. The stench of death and decay clung to the deserted village like mold on a damp stone. ’Twas not entirely deserted, for as they rode through the front gate and down the center of town, eyes appeared in windows behind parted curtains, and the cries of more than one babe rang through the air like a dismal ballad. Aside from that, the only other sign of life was the smoke curling from chimneys and the snort of a large pig wallowing in the mud.

  “What happened here?” Cristiana lowered her shoulders beneath the thick weight of despair in the air.

  “Naught good, I assure you.” Jarin shifted in his saddle and halted his horse before a two-story brick building announcing itself with a sign that said Inn. Still, no stable hand sped out to tend their horses, no laughter or music hailed from within. No savory scents of roasted meat wafted on the breeze, but rather the smell of rot and disease.

  “We should leave.” He jerked the reins to lead his horse away.

  “Nay. I cannot go on another moment,” Cristiana said. And ’twas true. If she didn’t get some food and rest soon, she’d grow weak and ill. As would Thebe. She glanced down at the sleeping babe, her long lashes spread over her chubby cheeks and a look of complete trust on her face. Cristiana would ne’er betray that trust. She would ne’er abandon this child as she herself had been abandoned.

  Jarin frowned, his jaw stiffening as he glanced from her back to the inn. “I fear ’tis the plague, my lady. If so, we should quit this place at once.”

  Mayhap he was right. Cristiana could not deny she had the same thought. Yet even as she pondered it, the Spear seemed to warm on her thigh. Was she imagining it? Or was it—and the God behind it—reminding her of its power? “We have the Spear,” she announced with more authority than she felt.

  Jarin’s eyes narrowed. “Does the holy relic also protect from foolishness?”

  She smiled. “Has it not kept fools like us safe thus far?”

  Humor appeared in his eyes as he shook his head. “Indeed. But I’ve no doubt even God has His limits.” He dismounted. “Regardless, I will discover what ails these people and search out some food. Stay here.”

  No sooner had Jarin ascended the first step of the inn than a man slipped out the front door, holding up a hand to halt the knight, whilst he glanced back and forth up the muddy street.

  “Good day sire. Be fellow or friend, I bid you caution.” His voice emerged scratchy and breathless, and only then did Cristiana note the sores pustulating on his neck and face and how his clothes hung on him as if they were too large for his emaciated frame. Thin, light-colored hair hung to his ears and framed cheeks that sunk into his face as if afraid to meet the light. He could be no older than forty, but he looked as near to death as any aged man.

  “I urge you, good sire, mount your horse and leave this place at once.”

  “What ails you, sir?” Cristiana asked from her horse, unable to dismount with Thebe in her arms.

  “’Tis the plague, mistress.” The man shuddered. “Already killed five. Prithee, leave ere it infects you as well.”

  Jarin slowly backed away from the man and swung about, apparently with every intention of obeying his advice.

  “Here, take Thebe,” Cristiana ordered.

  “Why? We’re leaving.” Jarin was about to brush past her to mount his horse when she all but dropped the babe in his arms, giving him no choice but to cling to the girl.

  Swinging her leg over the saddle, she slid down the other side, nearly falling, but managed to maintain her dignity.

  “My lady.” Jarin leapt in her path. “We are but a day’s travel from Luxley. You risk too much. What of Thebe?”

  The man coughed and leaned on the side of the door for support. “Prithee, leave at once. There is naught but death here.”

  Hesitating, Cristiana brushed a lock of Thebe’s hair from her face and lifted her gaze to Jarin’s. Unusual fear shouted from his brown eyes. “People are dying, Sir Jarin. ’Tis within my power to possibly cure them. How can I leave?”

  He huffed, looked away for a moment, then back at her, shaking his head. “You would risk us all?”

  Reaching up, she dared to run fingers over his jaw in an intimate gesture that surprised even her. “The Spear protects us. We must have faith.”

  One side of his lips quirked. “I don’t suppose I can stop you, save for tying you and the child up and making you my prisoners.” He released a heavy sigh, still blocking her path. “Which I may still do, withal.”

  She attempted to push past him, but ’twas like trying to shove aside a brick wall. “By all means, Sir Jarin, if it pleases you to do so. Only allow me to save lives whilst you decide.”

  To her delight, and surprise, he stepped aside, though he uttered a growl that followed her as she approached the man.

  The innkeeper shrank back and held up a hand to stop her. She took that hand in hers, amazed at how thin and cold it was. Sores scratched and dampened her palms, causing bile to rise in her throat. Forcing it down, she focused on his eyes, bloodshot and yellow. “Do you wish to be healed, sir?”

  Confusion furrowed his sweaty brow. “Aye, mistress, but what can ye…” He halted to catch his breath.

  The Spear warmed her thigh. Cristiana closed her eyes, fighting both exhaustion and fear, fear that this time the S
pear wouldn’t work, fear that this time her foolishness would cause all their deaths. “Holy Father, in the name of your Christ and the power of His Blood on the Spear, I command all sickness to depart from this man and his full health to return.”

  Keeping her eyes shut, she felt the warmth of the Spear travel up her leg, into her belly, through her chest, and down her arm, spreading into the man’s hand.

  He uttered a faint squeal of surprise as Cristiana kept her grip firm, allowing the healing power to fully penetrate his body. Sores withered and disappeared beneath her touch as warmth returned to his flesh.

  “Holy Moses!” the man exclaimed, his voice strong and full of life.

  Cristiana opened her eyes to see shock and joy beaming from features no longer tainted by death, skin no longer marred by disease.

  “How?” Eyes, clear and bright searched hers. “How?” He fell to his knees, took her hands in his and kissed them over and over.

  “The Lord has healed you, sir, not me. Get up.”

  Rising, he dashed into the street, raising his hands to heaven. “I am healed! I am healed!”

  Cristiana smiled, her gaze meeting Jarin’s and finding therein both astonishment and admiration. And something else, something permanent and deep. She could bask in that look forever, but Thebe stirred and opened her eyes, drawing Jarin’s gaze to her.

  The man’s shouting did more than wake Thebe. It drew citizens from their homes, at least those who could walk. Out from their hovels they staggered like the blind seeing their first speck of light. A few of them crawled, some clung to each other for support. Women bore feverish children in their arms.

  Sorrow threatened to crush Cristiana to the mud at the sight of so many, of so much misery. The crowd circled the man, who continued rejoicing and pointing in Cristiana’s direction. Finally, pushing past them, he darted toward her.

  “Can ye save them, mistress? Can ye save them all?” His gaze darted over Cristiana’s shoulder to the inn. “And my family.”