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

by Marylu Tyndall

  Jarin laid his head on his arm, breathing in her scent of flowers and innocence and feeling her small body nestled against his, so tiny against his large frame, so dependent on him for everything. And a strange feeling rose within him, an overwhelming feeling of protection, of care, of being a father to such a child, of watching her grow, teaching her, providing for her. Of guarding her with his life.

  Bosh! ’Tis precisely what he didn’t want!

  Exhaustion finally won over his anger with himself and his fears for Cristiana, and he slowly drifted to sleep.

  Jarin walked through a field of flowers. A breeze swirled about him, cooling his skin and bringing with it the sweetest fragrance he’d ever smelled, so sweet he could near taste it. Bright sunshine lit the tall, swaying flowers in sparkling colors so vibrant and pure ’twas like a painting from another world. Yet where was the sun? He could not find it in the brilliantly blue sky. Instead, light seemed to explode from all around, bright, golden light that kissed everything it touched with warmth and life.

  He continued walking, his boots cushioned by the soft soil, his hands spread out to graze the passing flowers. They tickled his palms. He smiled. In the distance, beyond the meadow, green mountains rose from which poured crystalline waterfalls, the silver liquid bouncing and bubbling in delight as it splashed into a lake below.

  A song danced upon the breeze like the sound of many harps, each playing a different tune, but all in harmony. Yet no minstrels were in sight. Nay. The song was not from human hands. Jarin stopped and glanced over the magnificent scene. The music came from all around him. From the flowers, grass, trees, waterfalls, and mountains. A joyous tune of peace and love and a happiness that had always eluded him in life.

  Three figures appeared in the distance, heading toward him—a man, woman, and child. At first he could not see their faces, but as they came closer, he stumbled backward and nearly fell.

  “Greetings, my son.” The man halted before him and smiled.

  “Father? Father! I’m dreaming.” Jarin rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, he shifted his gaze to the woman. “Mother?” Then to the child. A girl around eight years of age.

  “Your sister, Celia,” his mother said.

  Jarin could only stare at them in wonder. Yet how could he deny what he was seeing? His father looked the same, yet younger, stronger, devoid of the ravages of time and hard work. The last time he’d seen his mother, she’d been covered in blood, her face a twist of pain and heartache. Here, she was radiant, beautiful, healthy.

  “This can’t be,” he said. Nay, ’twas a dream. A beautiful, wonderful dream, but one that would soon end.

  His father grabbed his shoulders and drew him close in a tight embrace, a solid, warm embrace. Jarin could even smell the man’s familiar scent of tallow and aged books, hear his chuckle in his ears.

  “Jarin, my boy. I’m overjoyed to see you!” He backed away, allowing Jarin’s mother to rush into his arms and bury her head against his chest.

  He hugged them both. Tears burned in his eyes, but he dared not show the weakness, not for something that wasn’t real, that would vanish without warning just as it had come.

  The little girl tugged on his leather coat. Releasing his parents, Jarin stooped and gazed at her angelic face. Dark brown hair—the same color as his—fell in a bounty of curls over her shoulders. Golden eyes fringed in thick lashes stared back at him, love and laughter bursting from within them.

  She said naught. Merely fell against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He nudged her back, kissed her forehead, and rose to face his parents. “She died in my arms.”

  His mother laid a hand on his arm. “Nay, my son. An angel took her from your arms and brought her here to mine.”

  Jarin swallowed a burst of pain. “I don’t unders—”

  “This is the real world. Not the one you live in now, son.” Jarin’s father grabbed his wife’s hand as she took Celia’s. “We await you.”

  “Wait for what?” Jarin reached out for them, but they turned and started to walk away.

  “Nay! Don’t leave!” Jarin started to rush after them, but some invisible force held him at back.

  Beyond them, on top of a hill, a white city appeared, so bright, he blinked and shielded his eyes at the sight. Its walls were made of glimmering jewels and its gates of lustrous pearls, whilst towers made of gold rose toward the sky.

  When he glanced down toward his family, they were gone.

  Chapter 35

  Cristiana shot to her feet, intending to make a dash toward the entrance of the cave. She turned, but Cedric had already grabbed her arm. Tight. So tight, pain spiked across her shoulders and down her back.

  Hence, she spoke the first words that came to her. “In the name of Jesus the Christ, I command you to leave me be!”

  Cedric uttered a cry of pain and jerked his hand off her. Rubbing it, he backed away, eyes narrowed and mouth tight. Smoke rose from charred flesh on his palm.

  Cristiana slowly faced him, eyes wide, and breath coming fast. Part of her was shocked. Part of her praised God for His deliverance. Part of her longed to drop to her knees in worship. No doubt God wished to keep the Spear out of the hands of evil men.

  Cedric’s expression of pain and confusion soon transformed into one of hate and anger. He whirled and stormed to a pouch lying on the ground. From inside, he withdrew a small corked vial, some feathers, and what appeared to be rat tails. He tossed the tails and feathers into the fire. It spit and hissed, spewing a snake of smoke that slithered toward the ceiling of the cave.

  She glanced toward the entrance. Cedric could not touch her. Ergo, she could leave, couldn’t she? Yet…something kept her in place—a voice, a knowing. A peace.

  He poured out the vial onto the flames, then lifted his head and uttered. “Sicut superius et inferiu. Potestatem tuam super omnes vincit in bonum.”

  Cristiana knew enough Latin to understand he was calling on powers below to defeat all good.

  The fire leapt toward the ceiling as flames that looked more like claws reached for her.

  Cristiana leapt back. Mayhap she should leave.

  Cedric was beside her in less than a second, as if he’d been transported by some otherworldly power.

  He gripped her arm once again.

  And once again, he leapt back, screaming, his flesh singed.

  Cristiana smiled. “Praise be to God.”

  Cedric uttered a demonic growl as fury warped his features. Lifting his good hand, he snapped. “Come forth, pets. Your meal is prepared.”

  The wolves jumped from the corner and charged for Cristiana.

  Holding her breath, she stood her ground. If the Spear kept her safe from Cedric, surely it would protect her from these beasts. Wouldn’t it?

  Fangs bared, they leapt through the air toward her.

  Cristiana closed her eyes, waiting to feel their claws dig into her flesh, smell their foul breath as they bit her neck.

  A whooshing sound met her ears. Then a whine, as from an injured animal. She opened her eyes to see naught but two clouds of black mist rising to the ceiling.

  “What have you done!?” Cedric raged, staring upward. “My pets! My dear pets!” He sobbed and cried and screamed, shaking his fist at the sky and stomping like a spoiled child. Thundering toward her, he halted and lifted his hand to strike, his dark eyes churning like a storm at sea.

  He froze. Withdrawing, he retreated to the fire and lowered to sit. “Beshrew all that is good and holy! The enemy’s power is greater. Of this, I now have no doubt.”

  A beam of light appeared at the entrance of the cave, floating on the morning mist. Dawn had arrived. Cristiana should leave. Instead, she watched Cedric curiously, a strange sympathy for the man flooding her heart.

  “He is not your enemy, Cedric.”

  He spat on the ground.

  “Your enemy is the one who seduces you with power, with lies, and with pleasures that last but a moment. God is the One
who offers real power, love, truth, and eternal life.”

  He said naught, merely drew the hood of his cloak over his head as if he could hide from her.

  She took a step toward him. “Remember who you used to be, Cedric. A young man full of life and joy. Turn to God, repent of your evil ways, and He will welcome you with open arms.”

  Moments passed. The flames of the fire died to mere flickers.

  “Why do you speak so kindly to me?” he asked without looking up. “I can do you no harm. You are free. Yet you remain. Why? When if I could, I’d slit your throat?”

  “I stay because God loves you, Cedric, your evil deeds, notwithstanding. And because ’tis never too late to turn to Him and forsake this dark path you are on.”

  He finally lifted his gaze to hers. His eyes no longer churned with hatred. Instead a deep sorrow tugged upon his features. “Leave me.” He waved toward the cave entrance. “I beg you. Leave me.”

  Cristiana swallowed, said a silent prayer for him, and then turned and made her way out of the cave.

  ♥♥♥

  The warble of birds in his ears and glimmer of light on his eyelids dragged Jarin from his sweet slumber. Sweet, indeed, for he’d had the best dream of his life. Sorrow threatened to batter away his joy when he realized ’twas only a dream. Or was it?

  He opened his eyes to the simmering coals of a fire, rays of sunlight spearing through trees, and a squirrel on hind legs staring at him.

  Deep puffs of breath rose from the precious child in his arms, and ever so gently he pushed to a sitting position beside her. The squirrel darted off. Thebe muttered and shifted slightly but remained asleep. Curls the color of a baby fawn lay gently on her chubby cheeks whilst long lashes fluttered over her creamy skin.

  What was he to do with her? How was he to find Cristiana whilst caring for a babe? Cristiana. Jarin rubbed his eyes and stood. The horses snorted at him as terror wrapped around his heart and squeezed. What evil was she now facing? Was she even still alive? The latter thought crushed him more than he admitted. More than he wanted to admit. He needed help. They were so close to Luxley, mayhap he should ride there and get Alexia and Ronar. Alexia possessed powers for good, did she not? He’d witnessed them firsthand. Or mayhap ’twas only the one who held the Spear. Which gave him hope for Cristiana.

  Confusion tangled his thoughts. Stepping away from Thebe, he raked a hand through his hair and stooped before the fire. Grabbing a stick, he stoked the coals, then tossed a log onto the rising flames. He’d always been a man of action. Whene’er a problem arose or an enemy attacked, he gave no thought to a plan, but simply reacted, destroyed the enemy, solved the problem. Task completed. But this. How was he to fight an enemy he could not see?

  His dream filled his thoughts. It had seemed so real. Lifting his arm to his nose, he drew a breath. He could still smell his father’s scent, still see the love in his sister’s eyes. What if ’twas no dream at all? What if God had given him a vision of heaven, for surely ’twas what he’d seen. No other place could compare with the stunning beauty of that meadow and the city he saw beyond. A city on a hill. Could they really be there, alive and well, happy and loved?

  Yes.

  Jarin shot to his feet and glanced around. Where had the voice come from? Easing toward Thebe, he picked up his blade from the ground where he’d placed it and held it before him. A breeze stirred the leaves of the surrounding trees. Birds flitted from branch to branch. A squirrel scrambled up a trunk as the two horses stared at him as if he’d gone mad. Quite possibly he had.

  Still, he knew what he’d heard.

  And it changed everything.

  Odd fancy, that. Jarin the Just hearing from God. Receiving a dream from the Almighty that proved there was indeed a world beyond this one, a world that outshone this one by ten thousand to one. The real world—an eternity with the Creator Who had made this place. A place that now seemed petty and trite by comparison.

  He lowered his blade. Mayhap ’twas Jarin who had played the fool his entire life. For it seemed as though he’d been merely staring at a mural on a stone wall, believing that to be all there was when, in truth, there was an entire world beyond that wall. He’d been mad at God for taking away those he loved, when all this time, they’d been in a better place, a far better place—a place wherein he would see them again someday. If he didn’t play the fool.

  He hadn’t time to ponder it all before Thebe woke.

  “Jarn.” She sat and reached for him with both hands.

  “Good morn to you, little one.” Leaning over, he hoisted her into his arms. Moisture crept onto his shirt. Jerking Thebe from him, he held her aloft, noting the patch of wet on her small gown.

  Bosh! He set her down, but her lips drew into a pout, and she began to cry.

  “’Tis all right, Thebe.” Kneeling, he wiped her tears, but she fell against him, her chubby arms reaching around his neck.

  “Very well.” The sting of urine, and something else more foul reached his nose as he lifted her and headed toward the horses, trying not to think about what was saturating his shirt. Removing a clean cloth from the sack, a fresh gown, and the pouch of water, Jarin returned to the fire and laid Thebe down on the warm ground beside it.

  “Jarn is going to change your cloth now. Aye?” He stared down at the little girl who smiled up at him, though a tear spilled from her eye.

  He drew a deep breath. He could fight off five knights with blade, axe, or fist, scale a castle wall in ten seconds with naught but a rope and his brawn. He could win a joust, fight a battle, woo a maiden, and kill a deer all before the evening meal.

  But he had no idea how to change a baby’s cloth!

  Lifting her skirts, he proceeded. The sight and smell that met him stole his breath and brought water to his eyes. He winced. If they could bottle this, ’twould be no need to fight wars. Simply lay the stuff out on the battlefield and watch the enemy retreat. Holding his breath, he did his best, using leaves and water, to clean Thebe’s bottom ere tying on the clean cloth. All while she kicked her feet and moved about like the many squirrels darting up trees around them.

  “Stay still, little one.” His voice must have emerged too harsh for she started to cry yet again.

  Frowning, Jarin finished his work, changed her gown, and swept her in his arms. “I’m sorry. Jarn not mad.”

  Egad, now he was talking baby talk.

  But ’twas worth it, for in an instant, she was giggling again.

  “Find Cristi? Go find Cristi.” She tugged on his shirt.

  He nodded. “Aye.” Rising, he discarded the soiled cloth in the bushes, pitying the animals who lived there, kicked dirt onto the fire, then readied the horses.

  Thebe was not her normal, curious self, roaming about, investigating all things, and begging for food. Instead, she eyed him, thumb in her mouth, as if she didn’t trust that he intended to find Cristi. If the girl only knew that he’d rather die than not find Lady Cristiana D’Clere. Against his will, the lady had set up shop in his heart and sold off all his desires to be independent and free, all his desires to be a libertine, to ever glance at another woman.

  “Come, little one. Let us go find Cristi.” He reached for Thebe, and she flew into his arms, squeezing his neck so hard, his breath caught in his throat. “No leave me, Jarn. No leave?”

  “Nay, Thebe.” He rubbed her back. “I’m not leaving you.” He set her on the horse and gazed up at her, forcing back his own tears that anyone could have ever abandoned this precious child. Then swinging up behind her, he led the horses back onto the main road.

  The sun peered above the horizon, setting the morning mist aglitter and spreading a sheet of diamonds over farm, field, and forest. Somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed. Jarin turned right toward Luxley and eased the horses into a steady pace. What else could he do but seek out Alexia, Ronar, and Damien and elicit their help. Along the way, he would ask anyone he encountered if they’d seen Cristiana. The feckless plan weighed heavy on what li
ttle hope he had left in his heart, but there was naught to be done for it. Not until he had a clue where Cristiana was.

  Reaching in his sack, he brought out a piece of bread for Thebe ere she began to complain. She consumed it within minutes as she pointed at every bird, frog, squirrel, and cow in their view. Ah, to possess such joy and excitement at sights so common, and also such trust that all would be well. Yet wasn’t that what God demanded? That those who followed Him believe He would work out everything for good?

  Jarin should pray. Wasn’t that what people did who believed in God, and those no longer angry with Him? If the Almighty had given him such a glorious dream, surely He would answer Jarin’s prayers. Particularly if they were for a woman as godly as Cristiana. A woman who held the Spear of Christ.

  So many years had passed since Jarin had prayed, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. At the monastery, his prayers had been recited from books, repeated so oft, he never gave them much thought. But now he sensed God expected more than rote verses.

  Sighing, he bowed his head. Lord, if you’re there and you can hear me, I beseech You, help me find Cristiana. Prithee, keep her safe until I do.

  He lifted his gaze. Nothing. No voice from heaven, no sign from above pointing the way. Naught but the rising sun and the smoke from a farmhouse chimney. Feeling the fool, he shifted in the saddle and urged his horse into a faster gait.

  An hour passed, or was it two? Heat from the sun moistened Jarin’s skin beneath his leather surcote, and he took it off, relishing in the breeze sifting through his shirt. They came upon a field carpeted with purple, pink, and yellow wildflowers.

  “Run! Run!” Thebe pointed toward the meadow. “Stop, Jarn.”

  He pulled the horses to a halt and dismounted. Mayhap ’twas time for a break, anyway.

  No sooner did Thebe’s feet touch the ground, than she ran off frolicking through the field, giggling and twirling as if she were a pauper dancing through piles of gold. Jarin couldn’t help but smile. He also couldn’t help but remember the dazzling meadow of his dream and the joy and peace on his parents’ faces so similar to the expression of this innocent child before him.