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

by Marylu Tyndall

  Jarin was glad the innkeeper seemed to have some authority in the village, for the throng settled and finally quieted. “Would a witch ’eal you as this lady did?” He pointed at Cristiana.

  Mumbles bounced through the mob.

  “Curse me for an imposter, but the devil don’t make people well. She ’ealed ye once. She can do it again.”

  Moans were his only response.

  Cristiana gazed over the crowd, biting her lip, doubt and fear sparking from her eyes. “What if it simply returns again?” she whispered.

  Jarin slowly lowered his blade and squinted into the rising sun. In good sooth, he no longer cared. His mission was clear. He must return Lady Cristiana and the Spear safely to Luxley. Naught else mattered. They were wasting time. He spotted the stone manor house perched atop a hill at the far end of the village.

  “Where is the lord of this village?” Jarin asked, sheathing his sword. “Should he not send physicians to help? What of the bailiff, the rector? Is there no one else to aid these people?”

  The innkeeper snorted. “Bailiff died, our rector ran off, and Lord Wykeham left long ago when the plague began. In search of help, he said. Though ’twas ’im who likely started it, I make bold to say.”

  “How is that?”

  The innkeeper rubbed his grief-swollen eyes. “’E were a cruel overlord, demanding more taxes than we could pay, confiscating our food. And even our young women, when the pleasure struck ’im.”

  Cristiana glanced his way and trembled.

  “When we rose up against him,” a man said from the crowd, one of the healthy ones who had recently approached. “He sent an evil man here. A sorcerer, some say.”

  Several people crossed themselves and shuddered.

  “’E cursed our water. I told ye ’e did!” The innkeeper shook his finger at the mob. “Who among ye drank of the creek last night?”

  Those who still bore the plague slowly glanced at each other, affirming the truth with nods and horrified looks.

  Those who remained healthy shook their heads. “We drank what’s left of our wine,” one of them offered.

  The innkeeper groaned and his voice broke as he stared at his sick friends. “I told ye to stop drinking it. I told my wife to stop drinking it.” He sobbed and lowered his chin.

  A woman in rags shuffled forward. “We had naught else to drink.”

  “I still don’t understand.” Cristiana looked at Jarin. “The Spear should have healed them.”

  “Does it heal curses?” he answered. “Mayhap its power does not extend to such evil.” He gauged the concern dripping from her sweet expression. How was he going to get this kind woman away from this village of people who needed her?

  Cristiana faced the mob. “Do not drink the water from that creek anymore. Or from the wells.”

  “What are we supposed to drink? We’ll die of thirst if this plague don’t kill us first.”

  ♥♥♥

  The moans and shouts of the crowd dimmed into the background as Cristiana felt herself grow numb. Numb with fear, with loss…with uncertainty. She had no idea what to do, how to help these poor souls. In good sooth, the Spear could heal them again, but they needed water. They’d have to leave their homes in search of it, and from what she’d seen on her travels here, ’twould be more than two days journey ere they found enough to support an entire town.

  Thebe’s tiny hands yanked on her skirt, and she reached down to hoist the precious child in her arms, no longer fearing she’d be burned at the stake. Not with Sir Jarin by her side. The sleepy child nestled against Cristiana’s neck and yawned, oblivious to the danger surrounding her.

  Oh, what Cristiana wouldn’t give to have such peace!

  The sun rose above the treetops in the distance, trickling golden streams over green hills and onto fields ripe with barley and oats that needed harvesting. The light brought the village more into focus, not like the hazy blur she’d seen pass by her yesterday. Though small in size, the town appeared to have all one would need—a parish church, complete with steeple and rectory, an apothecary across the way, scrivener, candle-maker, blacksmith and other shops that circled the market square. Behind the inn, she could hear the gush of a creek that flowed from the hills above down to the lake she and Jarin had passed yesterday.

  How could these people leave all this behind to start over without the protection of a lord? How could Cristiana leave a cursed stream and lake that would infect any poor traveler happening this way?

  She kissed Thebe’s forehead and closed her eyes, silently praying for an answer. Moments passed as the crowd moaned, a rooster crowed, and Thebe’s breath tickled Cristiana’s neck. But then warmth radiated from the Spear, followed by the spark of an idea that ignited within her, deep within her, and ever so slowly made its way up to her thoughts—a ridiculous, madcap idea that made no sense at all. None. And surely one which should she voice, would cause the townsfolk to once again wish to burn her alive.

  ♥♥♥

  Jarin watched as Cristiana closed her eyes. He knew she was praying to her God for an answer, knew He’d most likely give her one—one that would keep them in this cursed village overlong, one that would get them caught and brought back to Luxley in chains.

  One that he could not allow.

  When she opened her eyes and glanced his way, the sparkle of delight in them proved him right. She faced the innkeeper.

  “This curse you speak of, the order came from the lord of the manor you say?”

  “Aye.” He rubbed his chin.

  “And he no longer lives at the manor home?”

  “Nay.” His swollen eyes widened. “But we dare not invade it, mistress. For surely he’ll return one day.”

  “I have no intention of invading it, kind sir.” She smiled, then glanced over the mob. The ones infected with the plague stared at her, hatred and betrayal in their eyes, whilst fear tightened the expressions of the others.

  Jarin kept his hand on the hilt of his blade and his eyes keen, should they of a sudden decide to accost the lady.

  “Let us away to the manor home,” she stated, chin lifted, though her shaky tone betrayed her. “Sir Jarin, if you could keep them…” She studied the throng yet again.

  “I will protect you with my life, my lady, have no doubt.” He gently grabbed her arm. “I beseech you, the longer we delay, the greater chance we will be caught.”

  “I cannot…” She drew a breath. “I will not leave them to this curse.” Then hoisting Thebe higher in her arms, she proceeded down the steps of the inn and out onto the street.

  At first the villagers refused to let her pass, some reaching out for her, desperate once again to be healed.

  “Follow me, and you all will be healed.” Though her voice emerged weak and lacking in conviction, the crowd parted, muttering and moaning, to allow her through.

  Keeping his hands ready to grab his weapons, Jarin shook his head and fell in step beside her. “Do you know what you are doing, my lady?”

  She cast him a quick glance, not long enough for him to see whether confidence or fear lingered in her eyes. “In truth, no,” she whispered back. “But I hope the Spear does.”

  Jarin raked back his hair and huffed. Bosh! How did it come to this, that their lives depended on hearing from an ancient piece of metal?

  Hence, with her gown wrinkled and stained, her hair disheveled, eyes still puffy from sleep, and a babe in her arms, the baffling lady marched down the muddy streets, a mob of both ill and healthy shuffling behind her. To what end, Jarin had no idea.

  Worse, he began to fear that if she didn’t perform the miracle she promised, the villagers would string both of them up and leave them for dead.

  She halted at the open gate of the manor house, its thick stone walls and steepled roof at odds with the waddle and daub homes of most of the villagers. Smokeless chimneys rose from two-story chambers decorated on either side with towers upon which statues of strange otherworldly creatures perched.

 
; Lady Cristiana passed through the gate and crossed what once was a well-manicured garden but was now naught but a mass of weeds and thickets. A large pond, dark and stagnant, marred the landscape to the left of the house like a blistering sore. Making her way in that direction, she circled the manor home where a set of stone steps hugged the structure and led up to a door on the second story. Threads of ivy wove over brick and stone on both sides of the stairway, nearly choking it in green. Here the lady halted and gazed upward as if this particular door, this particular stairway, held all the answers.

  The villagers halted behind them, still murmuring threats and doubts.

  Jarin leaned to whisper in her ear. “My lady, I beg you, let us quit this place ere danger finds us.”

  “Jarn.” Thebe reached her chubby hand to play with his beard. He took it and kissed her palm, eliciting a giggle. “For the child’s sake,” he added with urgency.

  “I do this for her sake.”

  “Do what, my lady?” Jarin asked, shifting his stance, alert to the enemies behind them.

  She blew out a sigh. “I do not know. ’Tis what the Spear wants. Here.” She handed him Thebe ere he could protest further. Clutching her tunic, she mounted the stairs.

  Nearly at the top, she turned to face them all.

  “Egad, she thinks to become our new lord!” one of the villagers shouted as their murmuring increased.

  “The lady is mad. Let us away from here!”

  “We’ve no time for this. Heal us, woman, as you did before!”

  Some cursed her, others mocked her, whilst others pleaded with her to make them well.

  Holding Thebe tight, Jarin attempted to discern the look on Cristiana’s face. Fear was there, to be sure. But also a peace he could not describe.

  “This is where the sorcerer stood when he cursed the water,” she said in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “And this is where the curse will be lifted.” Then kneeling on the step, she spread both her hands on the tread beneath her and closed her eyes. With her chest rising and falling beneath heavy breaths, she whispered something he could not make out, something about living water and curses.

  Seconds passed. More curses and threats shot at her from the villagers.

  But then…

  A gust of wind blasted over them, from whence Jarin could not determine, for the morning had been still. It stirred up dust and leaves and fluttered the vines surrounding Cristiana, tossing her hair around her. Still, she remained, kneeling on the step, unmoving—a statue of an angel far too kind for this vile world.

  Then…the sound of water bubbling and gurgling filled the air.

  The crowd grew silent.

  The wind dissipated.

  And water emerged from the steps beneath where Cristiana knelt. It started off slowly, a mere trickle, but then grew and grew until it gushed forth, swallowing the stairs in a cascading stream.

  It splashed over Jarin’s boots. He leapt from its path. Thebe laughed. “River! River!” she squealed.

  A hush fell over the mob. They gasped and moved from the torrent as it rushed past them, down a small hill of grass, and splashed into the pond beside the manor home. Fingers of light spread over the black waters, pushing back the darkness, as the fresh stream swept over the pool.

  Some of the throng followed the stream. Others remained, gazing back and forth between the stairs and the pond.

  Jarin didn’t know what to think. Or to feel. His thoughts and emotions whirled into a cyclone of unbelief.

  Thebe wiggled to get down, and he set her on the ground, trying to hold her arm ere she darted off. Too late. She rushed for the brook and began jumping in the water along with a few other children.

  On the stairs, Lady Cristiana rose, a smile on her lips and a light in her eyes that bespoke a wisdom and power he never knew existed. Then it was gone. But her smile remained. Their gazes locked, held by some invisible force…an intimacy he’d never experienced, an affection, a respect.

  Unable to restrain himself, he charged into the water and up the stairs. There, he swept her into his arms and carried her to dry ground.

  “I don’t underst…I don’t…” He was sounding like a fool, but shouts of joy and delight from the pond below forbade them any conversation. Splashes and cries followed, drawing their gazes down to several villagers wading into the waters, some cupping the liquid to their mouths, whilst others splashed it all over them. Sunlight glittered over the clean water spreading like a blanket of crystal toward the far end of the pond.

  “I’m healed! I’m healed!” A young woman, water dripping from her hair and clothing made her way up the hill to kneel before Cristiana. “The water is cured! Thank you, mistress! Thank you!”

  “’Twas not me,” Cristiana said. “But the power of God. Rise.”

  The woman did so but still stared at Cristiana in wonder ere she backed down the hill to the pond again.

  “The water, it runs beneath the wall!” an older man shouted, and a group of villagers rushed for the gate and disappeared around the corner.

  In good sooth, the man was correct. The pond overflowed, gushed through a hole in the wall, and formed a rivulet down another hill that spilled into the creek running behind the village. Jarin could hardly believe his eyes. In the same way the pond had been cleansed, the creek transformed into a bright, shimmering ribbon of water.

  Jarin, Cristiana, and a damp Thebe stood once again before the inn, watching all those who had been ill that morning made well by the fresh water. Only ten of them came back to thank Cristiana. A few bowed before her, but the lady was quick to give all credit to God and send them away.

  The innkeeper finally approached, the sorrow of his loss washed from his eyes. At least for the moment. “I don’t know what you did, mistress, but I thank ye.”

  Cristiana smiled. “God removed the curse on your water. Once it was gone, the illness it brought also departed. ’Twas not a plague, you see, but an evil that could only be dealt with by good.”

  He folded hands over his ragged shirt, his eyes misting. “I ne’er seen the likes of such a thing. May God reward ye, mistress.”

  Cristiana placed a hand on his arm. “May He reward you, kind sir, with peace and comfort.”

  Nodding, the man gave a sad smile, and Jarin knew he most likely wondered why God’s mercy had not healed his wife and child. Jarin could well understand the sentiment, along with the anger and bitterness it caused. Yet, oddly, no hint of either appeared in the man’s eyes. “Indeed, mistress. God be praised.”

  Confused, Jarin shifted his gaze away. A dark cloud toward the east caught his attention, so at odds with the other white puffs that floated idly across the blue sky. His body tensed, and he faced the innkeeper.

  “I fear we must leave posthaste.”

  Cristiana followed his gaze to the dark cloud. “What is it?”

  The black mist grew, churning and billowing as if it were alive. “Nothing good.”

  Chapter 32

  Alexia squeezed through the narrow opening that led from one of the tunnels into the bottlery. The sharp smell of wine and aged oak scraped over her, along with a chill. It had been raining for three days now, and the gloom had set her nerves on edge. Grunting, Ronar emerged behind her, followed by Seraphina and Damien, all dressed in black priestly robes. Save her. She wore one of her mother’s favorite tunics and surcotes, items she’d confiscated from the solar’s wardrobe. They had not been to Luxley Castle in three days, not since Ronar’s spider attack. Regardless, Anabelle had gotten word to them that she’d been administering the potion to Sir Walter, and he was getting worse by the day. Thus, ’twas time for another attempt to obtain his signature.

  Even in the midst of danger, Ronar gave her that sensuous smile that made her blood heat.

  “Keep your mind on the task at hand, Sir Knight,” she whispered, raising a brow.

  “I can do both, my lady,” he returned. “A man of many talents.”

  “You are a man who boasts overmuch,�
� Damien said, brushing dirt from his robe. “Why must we wear these? I look the fool.”

  Seraphina, her alabaster hair hidden beneath a black hood, eased beside him. “I doubt that could ever happen, Sir Damien.”

  His glance took her in with an affection that warmed Alexia, ere he faced her with anger. “’Tis too dangerous to bring her. She is not a warrior.”

  “Ahh, but she is, my brazen knight,” Alexia returned. “Not all warriors are bang and brawn. She has a gift, a powerful one—one of knowledge.”

  “I wanted to come,” Seraphina spoke up. “I want to help.” She rubbed her arms and looked around. “’Tis strong here.”

  “Evil?” Ronar asked.

  “Aye. Thick, malevolent.” She shook her head. “Powerful.”

  Alexia laid a hand on her arm and squeezed. “Never fear. Our God is far more powerful.” Alexia believed that. More than anything. She’d witnessed God’s power on many an occasion. Then why did fear suddenly squirm down her back?

  “Come, let’s be about it, then.” Ronar took the lead, skirting past casks, barrels, and bottles, then out the door and down a long corridor. Up two sets of stairs and down another hall they crept, thankfully meeting no servants or guards along the way, for ’twas well past midnight.

  Soon they approached the east wing of the castle that housed Sir Walter’s chamber. ’Twas also where Anabelle had told them the steward wandered aimlessly during the long nights. Apparently, due to increasing nightmares, the poor man had given up sleeping in favor of drifting through passageways, alcoves, and Luxley’s many empty chambers, muttering to himself. The stronger potion had also made him suspicious and frenzied as it blurred the line betwixt reality and delusion.

  Which was precisely what they needed.

  Many of the lanterns and rushlights had long since sputtered out, leaving but a few to guide their way. Even the moon and stars had abandoned them in favor of dark clouds, offering no light through the narrow windows. But Alexia knew this castle well and thus had no trouble feeling her way down the cold stones toward Sir Walter’s chamber.