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

by Marylu Tyndall

  Sir Walter studied her. Tension tightened around him as if he longed to spring on her. Then he smiled. “A dream, my lady. You have been quite ill of late. But be of good cheer. Today is your wedding day!”

  She stared at him aghast.

  “We delayed it, my lady, due to your illness, but you are on the mend now.”

  “But Cedric is not here.”

  “No matter.” He leaned toward her, then retreated, pinching his nose as if he smelled something foul. “You are marrying me.”

  Cristiana blinked, hoping to sweep away the man’s last words. “You?” Nausea bubbled again. “But your wife…”

  “Oh, you hadn’t heard? Of course. An unfortunate accident has taken her life. So young.” He tsked and laid a hand over his heart. “They say the best remedy for a broken heart is to remarry as quickly as possible.”

  Cristiana gripped her throat, trying to keep from being sick again. “I won’t marry you.”

  “You have no choice, my dear.” He whirled about, his velvet tunic flapping, and headed toward the door. “Your maids will arrive soon to bathe and dress you for the ceremony.”

  “You are poisoning me!” she shouted after him.

  “Devil’s blood! Such a thing to say to your espoused. You use me most ungraciously, my lady. In good sooth, I am trying to make you well.”

  “Where are Thebe and Sir Jarin?”

  “I truly have no idea who you are talking about, my lady, but never fear, you will feel back to yourself anon.” Then, after flashing her a grin that was as fabricated as the tale he told, he left and slammed the door.

  Cristiana sank into a puddle on the bed. Either she was going completely mad and she’d only dreamed the past year. Or she’d been captured and poisoned again, and Sir Jarin and Thebe were somewhere nearby. She had to believe the latter. She simply had to.

  Or there’d be no reason to go on.

  Even so, the Spear was gone. What chance did she have against Sir Walter and Cedric’s vile warlock? Without its power, not only could she not heal herself, but neither could she stop them from poisoning her further, dressing her, and forcing her to marry Sir Walter.

  Dropping her head in her hands, she sobbed. God, have you finally abandoned me like everyone else?

  ♥♥♥

  Alexia held up the crinkled parchment to the hearth where a fire provided enough light to see that—though some letters were smeared—most of the words on the document were legible. In good sooth, it wouldn’t take a scholar to read and understand the intent and meaning in those words. The only problem? Sir Walter’s signature was also smeared. Not entirely. One could easily make out the Si and the eGode, just not the Walter in the middle.

  She breathed out a sigh of frustration as Ronar appeared by her side. “What say you, my love?”

  They had allowed the parchment to dry for several days, hoping and praying that God would transform the smeared sections back into letters. Otherwise, they would have to return to Luxley and make one more attempt to get the pompous man’s signature.

  “It might suffice as proof for the king as is,” Alexia said. “Especially should a reputable person deliver it straight to his hand.”

  “And you know such a man?” Damien said from his seat on the couch beside Seraphina, his tone sarcastic.

  Alexia turned to face them. “I do. A trustworthy one whose services my mother and father oft used when they were alive.”

  “And is he still alive?” Ronar asked, raising a mocking brow.

  “Aye. He’s the village scrivener, if you must know. A Master Garitt. And he has a rabid disdain for Sir Walter.” She gave him a tight smile.

  “And an appreciation for you, who delivers fresh meat to his family, if I recall,” Ronar added, gazing at her again as if there were none other in the room. She doubted she could resist him if there weren’t. Instead, she settled for a squeeze of his hand.

  Friar Josef entered through a door at the back of their underground cave and approached, bringing with him the peaceful aura that always surrounded him after he spent time in prayer. “Greetings young knights. The Lord wishes you to know there is naught impossible with Him!”

  Ronar greeted him, then said to them all. “Indeed! I say we contact this scrivener and send the post as soon as possible to the king.”

  “Nay.” Seraphina rose, fear sparking in her blue eyes. “The scrivener will die. Wolves will attack and devour him. I have seen it.”

  Damien growled and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

  “Are you sure?” Alexia took a step toward the lady. “Mayhap ’twas merely a nightmare or vision from the enemy?”

  “I wish that it were, my lady.” She glanced over them all. “I waited until you said the man’s name and that he was a scrivener, for that is what I keep seeing.”

  Ronar grabbed the back of a chair and slammed it down on the stone floor. “’Tis the warlock. He knows. He sees.”

  “Mayhap, my son.” Friar Josef raised a calming hand. “But God’s power is greater.”

  Damien looked up. “Then we send someone else.”

  “Nay.” Alexia glanced at the friar, understanding stretching between them. “’Tis not the person, but the parchment he sees. Anyone we send would be in danger.”

  “Aye.” Friar Joseph let out a sigh. “Anyone who is not a follower of Christ will be at great risk.”

  Damien jumped to his feet. “Then I will bring it.”

  “Egad, man.” Ronar chuckled. “Have you quit your roistering and drinking and made a commitment to God I am unaware of?”

  The knight sneered. “What need have I of an invisible God when I have this.” He gripped the pommel of his sword. “A pack of wolves? Bah! I’ve single-handedly fought and killed a band of trained soldiers. I can handle a few sniveling beasts.”

  From looking at the knight, clad in leather and armor and strapped with a dozen weapons, Alexia had no doubt ’twas true.

  Ronar, however, shook his head. “Do you forget you are a wanted man, Damien? You’d be arrested ere you reached the king. Alas, any of us would.” Growling, he took up a pace before the hearth. “Tush! To come this far and be trussed like a hen.”

  “I will take it,” Seraphina said, easing a braid of ivory hair over her shoulder.

  “Nay.” Damien didn’t hesitate to answer with both authority and finality.

  “But I am not wanted by the authorities.”

  Damien faced her, his face tight with frustration. “Did you not just hear that this warlock will send wolves to devour your flesh?”

  She frowned at him.

  “He’s right.” Alexia approached the lady and took her hands. “Though I know you for a godly woman, ’tis far too perilous. Even so, a mere maid would ne’er be given audience with the king.”

  “Alack.” Seraphina withdrew her hand and sighed. “I want to do something. I feel so helpless.”

  “We all feel helpless at the moment.” Walking to the friar’s desk, Alexia gently laid the parchment down and placed a large book atop it. “Should you have an idea, a word from God, friar, now would be the time to express it.”

  He shook his head. “Naught but what I normally suggest. To pray.” He glanced over them all. “’Twill all work out. I know it.”

  “Would that I enjoyed your confidence.” Ronar huffed as he continued pacing.

  Still, the friar’s faith put Alexia to shame. She, too, should believe that God would provide the answer. A much more difficult task when things continued to grow worse.

  “Alexia!” The voice was faint, distant.

  She glanced over her friends, but none of them addressed her.

  Ronar swept his gaze to hers, sharp and tense.

  “Alexia!”

  They all glanced at the door. No one knew of this secret place. Few called her by her Christian name.

  Making her way to the far table, Alexia grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows. Ronar took his sword and together, the two of them, along with Damien, started
for the door. All while Alexia sought her mind for an answer as to the source of the voice.

  “Wait.” She held up a hand. “It has to be Anabelle. She’s the only one who knows of our hideout.” She’d almost forgotten that she’d told the maid—nigh two years ago now—that should she ever find herself in danger, to walk east for two miles and search for the pond beside an ivy-covered cliff over which a waterfall tumbled. There was none like it in all of Emerald Forest.

  “Allow me to go to her.” Alexia opened the door and started out.

  “Nay.” Ronar nudged her behind him. “Damien and I will go. If ’tis her, we’ll bring her to you.”

  Alexia didn’t like being told what to do. She also didn’t like waiting and doing nothing, but her heart never failed to warm whene’er Ronar desired to protect her. Within minutes, Anabelle appeared in the tunnel.

  “Anabelle!” Alexia ushered her inside, glancing behind her at Ronar and Damien, who followed.

  “Never fear.” Ronar closed the door behind him and Damien. “She is alone.”

  “I made sure of it, my lady.” Anabelle glanced over the chamber in awe, as everyone did when they first saw such a well-appointed home beneath the ground.

  “Forgive me for coming here. I know you told me never to do so, but I have important news.” Anabelle gripped her throat as if the action would help her to speak.

  Seraphina poured a mug of water and handed it to the woman.

  She gulped it down, and set it on the table, her worried eyes flitting over them all.

  “What is it?” Alexia asked.

  “’Tis Cristiana and Sir Jarin. They are caught.”

  Jaw bunching, Ronar lowered his head and groaned.

  “Judas!” Damien gripped the hilt of his sword.

  “My sister? Where is she?” Alexia didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified. She hadn’t seen Cristiana in so long, far too long, that the thought of her being so close elated her. Yet now, she feared the worse.

  “In her chamber. ’Tis all I know. Save, I believe Sir Walter poisons her again.”

  Alexia closed her eyes, fighting back tears, fighting back desperation and fury.

  “And Jarin?” Ronar asked.

  “In the dungeon. To be executed on the morrow.”

  Ronar cursed again, then apologized as he glanced at the friar.

  Executed? Alexia could not bear it.

  “Not if I can help it!” Damien raged and pounded his fist on the stone wall.

  “Is it the bishop’s doing?” Alexia asked. “Surely Sir Walter is too muddle-brained to do much of anything.”

  The maid shook her head. “He no longer takes the potion, my lady. He knows someone poisons him, thus he gathers his own food and drink from the kitchen.”

  Alexia touched her arm. “Does he suspect you?”

  “Nay. I don’t believe so.”

  Damien muttered, rubbing his leather-clad hand. “Then we can no longer get his signature.”

  Ronar nodded, silent. But Alexia had seen that look before. He had retreated within himself, gathering courage, making plans, hoarding anger.

  He was preparing for war.

  Alexia squeezed Anabelle’s hand. “You have done right to come here. And at great risk. Thank you.”

  Anabelle glanced at the door. “I must return ere he discovers me gone.”

  Approaching, the friar laid a hand on her head. “Go with God, dear lady.”

  She cast them all one last glance, then slipped out the door.

  Friar Josef gestured for them all to come near. “We must pray.”

  “Nay!” Damien barked. “We must go rescue them.”

  “Indeed.” The friar’s tone brooked no argument. “But first, we pray.”

  ♥♥♥

  “Where is Cedric?” Sir Walter hesitated to make demands of Drago, but ’twould seem his son was missing.

  “How should I know?” A swarm of flies hovered over Drago as he read a book spread open before him.

  “Can’t you spread some coals on your iron table and locate him?”

  Drago lifted his gaze, his black eyes so sharp, Sir Walter swore he felt something stab his chest. “I have tried. He does not appear.”

  “Why would he not appear? Is he dead?” Sir Walter swallowed and wrung his hands. If so, he’d lose his leverage with this monster.

  “Dead or he has turned to the light. Either way, I no longer sense his power.” Drago flipped a page and ran a long black fingernail over the words.

  “Turned, bah! The woman said he tried to take the Spear. Mayhap she bound him somewhere or sprinkled holy water on him.”

  A screech from above drew Sir Walter’s gaze as a bat took flight up the hollow tower.

  “Hell’s fire! You’d better hope that is not so, for you promised him as apprentice to me.” Drago’s pale lips curled like the smoke rising from his cauldron, his smile frightening Sir Walter more than the threat.

  “And he has been a good apprentice…powerful and very useful to you.” He hated the tremor in his voice.

  “Hmm.” The cyclone of flies above Drago’s head suddenly dove into the bubbling cauldron, their bodies hissing as they hit the liquid.

  A stench akin to rotted flesh and human feces burned Sir Walter’s nose, and he wondered why he tortured himself with these frequent visits below. What need had he of this devil anymore? He had the Spear and the girl. The Spear he’d give to the bishop and send him on his way. The girl he would marry and become lord of Luxley.

  As if reading his thoughts. Drago seethed. “Do you try me for a fool, snake? We have a bargain. And should you not fulfill your part, I’ll carve your loathsome carcass into pieces, and your fate will follow that of these flies!”

  Sir Walter gulped. Terror twisted his tongue, leaving him speechless. A single fly flew out of Drago’s ear and joined the others by way of demonstration.

  “Sulfur and flames!” Drago shuddered and gazed up. “They are here again.”

  “The Knights of the Eternal Realm?”

  “Do not say their name!” His bellow sent more bats screeching upward.

  “Then flood them, topple a wall on them, or send a swarm of locusts to devour them.” Sir Walter flung a hand through the air.

  “The Spear is here, you fool! Its presence forbids me to see clearly. Get rid of it at once, or these knights may get the better of you.”

  “I intend to. After the bishop weds Lady Cristiana and me this eve, I will give him the Spear, and he will no doubt make haste to return to the king. To the devil with that swag-bellied pompous snod!”

  “Aye, the bishop will eventually meet our master.” Drago resumed his reading. “Acquit me and be about it then. I find your company tiresome.”

  Sir Walter fumed. The sentiment was mutual. Someday—and someday soon—he would teach this warlock to respect him. Mayhap when Cedric returned with more power than this depraved sorcerer, whose dark magic couldn’t even defeat a rusted old relic.

  Chapter 38

  A rat scrambled over Jarin’s boot. He kicked it to the stone wall on his left, one of four walls that enclosed him in a prison of his own stupidity. He should have seen those soldiers coming, should have been paying closer attention. But he’d allowed his thoughts and his focus to stay upon Lady Cristiana—on their recent confessions of love, their kiss, and the conflict within him to either make her his wife or run as far from her as he could.

  Forsooth! Now, he had not only lost her and Thebe, but his freedom, and quite possibly his life. If what the guard told him was true—that he was to be hanged at dawn.

  Death, the ultimate loss of freedom. Or was it? Not if his dream had been real.

  Rising, he walked the four steps it took to reach the far wall ere he turned and retraced his path. His boots rang hollow over the dirty stones, kicking up the odor of mold, decay, and death to taunt him. He felt for the other wall, lost in the shadows, and moist, scratchy rock met his fingers. Water trickled down a column of stones and formed
a small puddle in the corner.

  He turned and gazed upward where a small window far above provided a modicum of light that did naught to dispel the gloom of the place. Nor the gloom from his heart.

  He’d not slept all night, alternating between pacing and crumbling to a heap. No visitors had come nor any food, and from the dimness of the light now coming through the window, he assumed the day was nearly spent.

  One more endless night, and he’d be dead.

  Jarin fisted hands at his waist and growled. What was happening to Cristiana and Thebe? Were they safe? Cared for? Or were they to face the same fate as he? Nay, Sir Walter needed Cristiana alive. That gave him hope. But what about Thebe?

  “Oh, God, prithee, watch over the child.” His pathetic prayer sounded hollow and empty, bouncing off the walls of the dismal chamber.

  Would he ever see them again? Despair threatened to leech all hope from his soul.

  “How could you allow this to happen, God? How?” It didn’t seem fair when Jarin had started praying again. When he’d begun to believe God might not be the cruel tyrant he’d always believed.

  Pacing to the other wall, he kicked it. Pain shot up his foot into his ankle. Good. It kept him alert, focused, and assured him he was still alive.

  Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to all the incredible things he’d seen since he’d found Cristiana. Scenes from a play no one would believe unless they’d been there themselves. The sudden fog that had saved them from the soldiers, lightning that had transformed wolves into dust, the dark spirits he’d seen around Quinn, the angel who had alerted him of the threat to Cristiana, the healings he had witnessed, the curse on the village’s water lifted. He could go on. And what of the lady herself, her love and care for others, even her enemies? In good sooth, how could Jarin deny that God was love when His love shone so brightly through Cristiana?

  Nay, he could no longer deny there was a loving God, a God who cared about His children, who loved and healed and protected. He could also not deny that that same God stole his father, mother, and baby sister from his arms. When all they did was serve Him.