She turned to Seraphina. “Anything?”
“Aye, this way.” The young maid pressed past her and Ronar and led them to the right, up the stairs, then down a narrow passage that ended in a small circular alcove. “He comes this way.” She halted.
“Good.” Ronar nodded and each of them retreated into the shadows at intervals down the hallway, with Alexia at the end.
Light from a single lantern cast dancing shadows over the floor and walls as the sound of shuffling footsteps sounded, and Sir Walter came into view. The white of his nightdress fluttered behind him, but he hung his head low, wringing his hands and mumbling to himself.
He approached Sir Damien first, and the knight stepped out before him. Screeching, he leapt out of the way, backing against the other side of the hallway, trembling and wide-eyed.
“Sign it,” Damien said, ere he retreated into the shadows again.
“Who are you?” Sir Walter demanded, peering into the darkness, his voice cracked with fear. He stood for a moment, staring at the place where Damien had disappeared. But then he started walking again, resuming his hand wringing whilst keeping a wary eye on his surroundings.
Seraphina eased out before him. He jumped back, hand on his heart, and screamed. The echo bounced hollow over the walls, and Alexia hoped none of the guards heard.
“Who are you? What do you want? Has God sent priests to torment me before my time?” He pressed palms over his temples. “Make it stop!”
“Sign it,” Seraphina said, then eased back into the shadows.
It was several moments before Sir Walter moved again, scrambling over the stone floor much faster than before.
Ronar stepped out from a dark corner, blocking his path. The man ran into him and bounced back, tumbling to his knees on the hard stones.
He began to whimper. “Make it stop. Make it stop! Leave me be!”
Alexia slipped out from behind Ronar. “You can make it stop, Sir Walter.”
He looked up. “You. You again.”
“Aye, the woman you murdered.” Her tone was poison.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He dropped his head into his hands and sobbed. “I’m sorry I killed you.”
Alexia longed to pluck out her knife and end this man’s life right here and now. He deserved worse for his many crimes, but especially for killing her mother and nearly destroying her sister. But the friar’s words kept floating to the top of all her vengeful desires. “God will avenge you, my dear. Leave it to him.”
Withdrawing the parchment, pen, and small jar of ink, she extended it toward him. “If you truly wish to make amends, sign this.”
Sir Walter rubbed his eyes and stared at the paper. “I don’t underst—”
“Just sign it!” Ronar ordered. “And your pain will be gone.”
Not entirely, Alexia thought, for the man was tortured by more than potions.
“Very well! Whate’er this is, grant me your troth you will quit this haunting, Lady Grecia. Leave me be, I beg you.”
Alexia hesitated. She found such pleasure in playing her mother to this man, in torturing him endlessly. Alas, mayhap ’twas not the best Christian attitude. She was still working on loving her enemies. “You have my troth. You will never see me again.” She pointed where he should sign.
Sir Walter took the pen, dipped it in the ink, and hovered it over the parchment.
♥♥♥
After changing Thebe’s soiled cloth and receiving sacks of food from the innkeeper, along with a skin of the fresh water from the creek, Cristiana found herself atop a horse once again with Thebe sitting in front of her. Only this time, the child squirmed and wiggled like a worm on hot coals, wanting to get down to run and play and release her youthful energy.
Though Cristiana had not the same energy after very little sleep the night before, she could well understand the need to run and sing and dance in praise to God after what had just occurred. Alas, now that they’d long left the village behind and Sir Jarin kept them at a rapid pace, Cristiana began to wonder if she had dreamed the entire event, so amazing and unbelievable as it was.
The dark cloud they’d seen on the horizon grew to cover nearly the entire sky, save for tiny breaks through which light from the afternoon sun pierced the landscape. Before her, shadows drifted across the countryside she’d come to love so much, over hills and ponds, farms and forest, like dark waves upon a green sea. A burst of chilled wind wafted over her, stirring dust and leaves into eddies, and whipping Thebe’s curls. Cristiana drew her close, a sense of foreboding mangling the hope she’d gained over the past few days.
“Get down?” Thebe asked. “Hungry. Look, a birdie!” Her voice changed from one of complaint to delight in an instant as she pointed to a bird, the color of a ruby, staring down at them from a passing branch. It tweeted and chirped, serenading the child with a tune that made Thebe clap.
“We will stop soon, darling,” Cristiana said, glancing at Jarin.
But the knight remained as stoic and silent as he had been since they’d left the village. Could he be angry they’d delayed overlong? Nay, for he’d oft smiled at her during the day—a quick flash of kindness—ere he quickly snapped his gaze away as if looking at her for too long was dangerous. If she admitted it, ’twas a danger to her heart to do so as well. For there were times…there had been moments…when the knight’s shield was lowered, and she saw a world of promise in his eyes.
“Jarn.” Thebe stretched out her hands toward him. “Sit with Jarn?”
“Nay, little one,” he said, barely offering her a glance. “We will stop anon.”
Thebe shrank back against Cristiana’s chest and put her thumb in her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he added, looking at them both. “I must keep alert.”
So, he felt it as well, the portent of doom hanging in the air. “How long before we arrive at Luxley?”
Slowing his horse to a walk, he stretched in his saddle, hand on the pommel of his sword. “On the morrow.” He glanced over the landscape, eyes sharp and focused, and rubbed his beard. “We’ll find a safe place to stay the night, and then we should arrive at Luxley ere the noon meal.”
Home. Cristiana had been gone for so long, she hardly knew what to feel. Excitement—certainly at seeing her sister. Fear, indeed. Uncertainty, to be sure. Alas, and a bit of sorrow as well, for her time with Sir Jarin would come to an end.
Thunder roared across the sky. Thebe shrieked and clung to Cristiana.
“Merely thunder, Thebe. ’Tis all right.” The spicy scent of rain filled the air as lightning flashed.
Jarin looked at the girl and frowned. “Pray, my lady, what happened back at the village? How did you know to go to the manor steps? How did you know what to pray? That ’twas a curse?”
“I did not know.” She bit her lip and glanced at a passing farm where smoke rose from a small home and pigs wallowed in mud inside a pen. “At least not in my head. ’Twas a different sort of knowing…coming from the Spear.”
Jarin snorted. “Peace, froth! An old piece of metal cannot think or speak, my lady. No matter whose blood stains it.”
“I make no sense of it, either,” she snapped. “But as you said, how else would I have known what to do?” In truth, she hadn’t been sure of anything right up to the moment she’d knelt on the stairs and uttered the words that came unbidden to her lips.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“You cannot deny there is a God who is all powerful, Sir Jarin.”
“God loves,” Thebe took her thumb out of her mouth to say.
Cristiana squeezed her. “Aye, He does darling.”
“Nay. I have seen too much,” Jarin said. “But I have also seen that He deems to save some whilst allowing others to suffer for no cause. Good people, such as the innkeeper.”
And Sir Jarin’s family, Cristiana realized. Nevertheless, he had a point, one for which she had no answer.
Still, he smiled her way, that smile that made her long for more of him.
That smile that thrilled her beyond all else.
“Your care, your love for strangers, never fails to astonish me, my lady. Even those who would have gladly burned you as a witch.”
Thebe grabbed a lock of Cristiana’s hair and began twirling it around her finger.
“How can I blame them? They were hale one minute, only to have their health stolen from them the next.”
“Hence, my astonishment, my lady.”
Embarrassed by his flattery, she longed to turn the topic of conversation away from her. “Why do they call you the just, Sir Jarin?” Something she had been dying to ask him, but dared not intrude.
He smiled. “The king dubbed me as such after I refused to take a bribe.”
“From who?”
“Merely some knaves seeking special favors at court.”
“Indeed? A poor knight who turns down coin?” She teased him with her tone, though, in truth, she found the deed admirable. Most people of power took bribes. ’Twas the way of things.
He shrugged. “Most would have done the same.”
“I doubt that. You possess more honor than you give yourself credit for.” She could not tell if her compliment affected him, for he said not a word, though a smile flickered across his lips.
Thunder roared again, dull at first, but increasing in both volume and tension until it seemed to shake the very ground they rode upon.
Clinging tight to Cristiana, Thebe looked over at the knight. “Hungry, Jarn.”
Without stopping, the knight reached into a sack tied to his saddle and pulled out a nectarine and a block of cheese the innkeeper had given them and handed them to Cristiana. A light mist began to fall, and he glanced up at the ever-darkening sky.
“From whence hails this strange storm?”
Black, undulating clouds hung so low, it seemed they could reach up and touch them. A strange chill shuddered Cristiana.
“Let us make haste ere the rain falls.” Sir Jarin prodded his mount into a trot and Cristiana did the same, clinging to Thebe.
They continued their journey, attempting to outrun the malevolent storm, stopping once to relieve themselves, stretch their legs, and change Thebe’s cloth. The girl was having so much fun running about, collecting leaves and looking under rocks, that Cristiana hated to place her back on the horse again.
But Jarin would not be put off.
Finally, the storm clouds swallowed up what was left of the now-setting sun. And still no rain fell. Instead a band of ravens joined them, circling above their heads like vultures over the dead. Their eerie caws only added to Cristiana’s unease.
Turning off the main path, Sir Jarin led them across a field toward what looked like the remains of an old stable. Half the roof was caved in, and all that remained of the front were jagged pieces of broken wood hanging like rotted teeth in an old man’s mouth.
Dismounting, he led their horses inside, then reached up for Thebe. The sleeping girl woke of a sudden and all but leapt into his arms.
“Jarn! Hungry.”
“You’re always hungry, little one.” He chuckled and set her down, then reached up for Cristiana.
His touch on her waist warmed her down to her toes, her reaction surprising her with its intensity. He placed her gently down before him, so close she could feel the heat from his body, smell his familiar scent that did odd things to her stomach. Swallowing, she glanced up at him, searching for his eyes in the shadows, longing to know what she’d find within them. He brushed a curl from her forehead, and for a moment, she sensed he might lean down and kiss her.
But just as quickly, he cleared his throat and moved aside, taking the reins of her horse and tying both the animals up to a nearby post.
A chill stole his warmth away as thunder growled from the angry sky. Thebe dashed to Cristiana and clung to her leg. Hoisting the girl into her arms, she carried her beneath the remainder of the roof whilst Jarin brought their sacks of food and found the candles the innkeeper had given them.
Once lit, the flickering light revealed naught but piles of hay, empty troughs, and broken-down stalls. Yet, as they unloaded their food and sat to eat, it might as well have been a feast in the great hall of a castle for all the joy and love that filled Cristiana’s heart with Jarin and Thebe by her side.
A feast that, unlike so many she’d attended, she wished would never end. But the caw and screech of several ravens stole the happiness of the moment as at least six black birds swooped down and lined along a fence post just outside the stable. There they sat like demonic sentinels, eyeing them, leering as if they’d won a great victory.
Thebe leapt into Cristiana’s lap and hid her face.
Sir Jarin jumped to his feet, sword drawn and ready.
“Away with you! Away!” He charged the birds, swinging the blade before him. The ravens took flight, croaking and squawking in protest.
But then another sound—one far more terrifying—rose to take their place.
The growl of ravenous wolves.
Grabbing a candle, Sir Jarin took a protective position before Cristiana and Thebe, sword leveled in one hand and the candle lifted in the other.
Two of the largest wolves Cristiana had ever seen emerged from the darkness and crept toward Sir Jarin, red, slit-like eyes glowing and white fangs dripping with saliva.
Thebe wailed and gripped Cristiana’s tunic so tight, it tore.
“Get on the horse,” Jarin ordered. “You and Thebe. I’ll hold them back until you are gone.”
Cristiana didn’t move. Not out of fear, though she felt more terrified than she’d ever been. In truth, she could hardly breath, could hardly hear for the mad rush of blood past her ears. But just as she had known about the curse in the village, she now knew two things with certainty.
One, these wolves were not of this world, and therefore, Jarin could not defeat them.
And two, they wanted only her and would leave Sir Jarin and Thebe alone if they got what they came for.
Rising on shaky legs, Cristiana pried Thebe from her arms and set her down in the hay. “Stay here. Sir Jarin will keep you safe.”
Ere the girl could cling to her again, Cristiana moved to stand beside Sir Jarin.
“They want me, Sir Jarin, not you. Not Thebe.”
“Nay! Do as I say. Get Thebe and leave at once!”
But she could not. She would not put the two people she loved most in the world in danger. Not when ’twas within her power to keep them safe.
Brushing past Sir Jarin, ignoring her trembling legs, Jarin’s protests, and Thebe’s cries, Cristiana marched straight toward the wolves.
Chapter 33
“Devil’s blood!” Sir Walter took the final step down into Drago’s lair and pushed open the door. “Devil’s blood!” he cursed again, his gaze scanning the dark chamber as the door slammed behind him, the echo ringing hollow and empty.
A dark mist appeared behind the warlock’s cauldron, twisting and spinning faster and faster ere taking form and shape. Drago suddenly appeared, a scowl on his face. “What has you in such a pother, Sir Walter? One of the maids reject your advance again?”
Sir Walter fisted his hands. “Nay. Far worse. I signed it.” He still could not believe his own words. The bats hanging above swayed, and his head grew light. Stumbling toward a chair, he sank into it and rubbed his eyes. Maybe ’twas just a dream, one of his many recent nightmares.
Uttering a sigh of annoyance, Drago poured something into the cauldron. “You signed what?”
“I don’t know,” Sir Walter mumbled, staring at the dirt-encrusted floor. “Mayhap I didn’t.”
“Then why do you disturb me?!”
The cauldron hissed and the stench of bile and feces bit Sir Walter’s nose. The warlock’s white robe fluttered into his vision. Shooting to his feet, he backed away, staggering and trying to catch his balance. How did the man always approach without a sound?
“I signed something. Something important. They are here.”
Drago’s face t
wisted. “Do you think I do not know that? I have felt them since they arrived.”
“Then why do you not stop them?”
“I was attempting to do so when you interrupted me, you lizard-brained whoreson! Now, what did you sign?”
“I don’t know. Lady Grecia haunts me.”
“’Tis not her, you fool. She is with our enemy.” Flipping his robes behind him, Drago returned to his cauldron.
“They tricked me.” Sir Walter wrung his hands. “They—”
“Silence!” Drago’s command could wake the dead. In truth, it seemed to do just that as a row of bats took flight up the open tower.
The warlock tapped his chin, bouncing his long white beard. “Ah. I know just the thing.” Spinning around, he plucked what appeared to be a dead fish off a shelf, along with a dusty book. The fish he tossed into the bubbling cauldron, the book he opened.
Sir Walter sank to the floor, blinking to clear his eyes…and his thoughts.
The warlock flipped through pages, halting on one that made him grin, ere he began spewing a string of Latin Sir Walter could make no sense of.
Then slamming the book shut, he waved a hand over the cauldron, around and around and around, churning the liquid into a cyclone. Finally, that liquid rose, forming a dark funnel that sped up into the tower above.
Drago laughed, a maniacal laugh that pricked the hairs on Sir Walter’s arms. “They don’t stand a chance.”
♥♥♥
Alexia could hardly believe she’d finally gotten Sir Walter to sign his confession! After months of feeding him the poisoned elixir, months of haunting him, she’d come to believe his stubbornness would win out. But God had come through. Yet again. When would she ever have the faith to believe for the impossible?
With the document stuffed safely in her surcote, she led the way back through the tunnels, a very pleased Ronar, Damien, and Seraphina following behind her. With this paper, sealed with Sir Walter’s stolen signet ring, the king would have no choice but to send court magistrates to investigate the situation at Luxley. Mayhap ’twould not get the charges against Alexia and her friends lifted right away, but ’twas the first step.
She couldn’t help but smile as she ducked and squeezed through a particularly narrow section, the cold stone jabbing her arms.
She Walks in Love (Protectors of the Spear Book 2) Page 26