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

by Marylu Tyndall

  Their faces flashed before him, so young and full of joy and living in a place beyond description—a glimpse into an eternity that made this place and their time here of no import at all. ’Twas the last scene in a parade of events that God had used to get Jarin’s attention.

  Jarin bowed his head. “You have it, God. You have it.” Alas, now what? For instead of all things working out for good as Cristiana so oft proclaimed, things had ended up much worse than they ever could have expected.

  Jarin sank to his knees on the hard stone. “I’m sorry, Almighty God. I’m sorry, Jesus. I wandered away from you, angry and bitter. I thought I could run my own life, be master of my soul—eat, drink, and be merry until my dying day. But You have shown me that this life is nothing compared to eternity. Death is not the end for those who follow You, but merely the beginning of something far beyond compare. When You took my family, I thought ’twas cruel, but I see now ’twas a blessing, a reward, for them.”

  A dark shadow grew in one of the corners. Not from the waning light, but something much darker—a blackness that moved and breathed. And fumed. A presence. An evil that sent a shudder through Jarin. And he was not one to shudder. Two dark hands reached for him. Every nerve tightened. His breath seized. Fingers, black and pointed, curled around his neck, icy and sharp.

  And he knew without a doubt that if he allowed it, the darkness would devour him.

  “Nay! You cannot have me! I belong to Almighty God!” Jarin stood and fisted his hand at the mist ere closing his eyes and continuing his prayer. “And should I enter that eternity soon, I hope, Father, that You will find me worthy to join my family. My only request is that You spare Cristiana and Thebe and keep them safe and loved in this life until You bring them home as well.”

  The evil dissipated as if a strong wind had blown it away. Indeed, Jarin felt such a breeze, ripe with the sweet scent of myrrh. Strange. He opened his eyes. The final spire of light drifted over him from the window above.

  A man appeared in his cell, glowing like a thousand candles, his hair whiter than pristine snow, his eyes burning flames, and his tunic sparkling like diamonds.

  He smiled at Jarin, and in that smile Jarin saw a love he never knew existed.

  He got down on one knee and bowed his head. “My Lord and my King, I swear my fealty to You for all eternity.”

  When he glanced up, the man was gone, but Jarin knew he would never be the same.

  ♥♥♥

  Cristiana gazed up, mesmerized by the ribbons of maroon and gold fluttering across the morning sky. A breeze twirled one of her curls across her cheek, tickling her skin, and bringing the scent of lavender, rose, and horseflesh to her nose.

  Sky? Why was she outside?

  The world spun. Someone steadied her with a touch. Nausea gurgled up her throat. She glanced down and pressed a hand over the most lustrous azure silk gown she’d ever seen. Gold filigree trimmed the edges of her bell sleeves along with the slits that opened down her sides.

  Blinking, she attempted to focus on her surroundings—the chatter of a crowd standing around her, the familiar shuffle of servants’ feet hurrying to and fro, the neigh of horses and grunt of pigs. A crackling sound brought her gaze to torches lining the front of the chapel. Chapel? The outer bailey of Luxley Castle.

  The blurred shape of the bishop in his white tunic, silk-embroidered vestment, a tall red mitre cap on his head, appeared before her, an open book in his hand. Pressure on her arm brought her gaze to her right where Sir Walter stood beside her.

  “If you please, Bishop, let us proceed,” he said with impatience.

  Wait! Nay! She was marrying Sir Walter? A nightmare. It had to be. She lifted a hand to her head wherein surely a blacksmith hammered an anvil over and over. Pain radiated down her back with each strike.

  “I cannot,” she finally muttered out.

  “Oh, I assure you, my lady.” Sir Walter smiled her way. “You can.”

  The bishop cleared his throat. “Blessings and merry meet, gentle lords and ladies. Their banns having been published, we are here today to join the fair Lady Cristiana D’Clere and the noble Sir Walter LeGode together in matrimony.”

  Banns? When had Cristiana agreed to this union?

  “Sir Walter, art thou here this day in pledged troth of thy own free will and choice?” the bishop continued, his voice muted and distant, as if from a dream.

  “Aye, father,” Sir Walter said.

  “Lady Cristiana D’Clere, art thou here this day in pledged troth of thy own free will and choice?”

  Nay, nay, nay! Her insides screamed, her voice unable to function due to the bile rising in her throat.

  “The lady says aye,” Sir Walter said.

  “In as much as this nobleman and fair lady have pledged their troth to be married this day, we call upon heaven to bless this union. Therefore, if anyone can show just cause why they may not be joined together, by God's Law or the Laws of the Realm, let them now speak, or else hereafter keep silent for all time.”

  Cristiana’s thoughts spun into a cyclone of misery, angst, and confusion. Surely someone would say something! Wouldn’t they? Mayhap ’twas a nightmare after all.

  All have abandoned you.

  The voice rang clear through her addled mind. Clear and true. Everyone had abandoned her. Her mother, her father, her sister, Seraphina, and now Sir Jarin. Even Thebe. Where was that dear child?

  “God, help me,” she whispered.

  “What say you?” The bishop leaned toward her.

  “She says to proceed, Your Grace.” Sir Walter glanced over the crowd. “The lady is anxious to consummate the union, no doubt.”

  Chuckling ensued.

  Attempting to catch her breath, Cristiana’s legs turned to mush, and she reeled, longing to fold to the ground and disappear. Firm hands gripped her and kept her standing.

  “Do you Sir Walter LeGode take unto thyself as wife Lady Cristiana D’Clere and pledge unto her before God and these witnesses to be her protector, defender, and sure resort, to honor and sustain her, in sickness and in health, in fair and in foul, with all thy worldly powers, to cherish and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  God, where are you? Have you abandoned me as well? Cristiana felt her thigh for the Spear, but ’twas gone. Without the Spear, the power of God no longer rested on her. Did His love also no longer abide with her? Yet hadn’t He protected her over the past year? Hadn’t He shown His faithfulness and His mercy?

  “I will,” Sir Walter answered.

  The bishop released a sigh, as if he were bored, ere continuing. “Do you Lady Cristiana D'Clere take unto thyself the nobleman Sir Walter to be thy rightful lord and pledge unto him before God and these witnesses to honor him, to cleave unto him, in sickness and in health, in fair and in foul, be his one true and lasting counselor and solace, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Think, think, think! If only Cristiana could gather her wits, her thoughts, her strength, she could speak up, deny this hideous farce, and order her knights to toss Sir Walter and the bishop from her castle…her land…her estate!

  If only God would heal her as He had done to so many others she had touched.

  But without the Spear….

  “My lady? What say you?” The bishop’s tone was ice.

  Holding a hand to her stomach, Cristiana lifted her chin. “This is what I say. In the name of Jesus the Christ, I am healed!” Though her voice lacked the strength of her words, she jerked her arm from Sir Walter’s grip and closed her eyes.

  Laughter rumbled over her from the crowd. Sir Walter growled. The bishop let out a sigh of frustration.

  “Clearly, your excellency, the lady calls to Christ for His blessing on the union.”

  “Very well,” the bishop said. “Heavenly Father, Creator of all things both in heaven and earth, we humbly ask thee to bless this union…”

  But Cristiana wasn’t liste
ning anymore. As if a strong wind blew away all the dust and fog from her head, her mind began to clear. The world settled. As did her breathing, along with her stomach as a wave of strength swept down her body.

  She opened her eyes. God had healed her! Even without the Spear. How could that be? She gazed up at the stunning blue sky—as the bishop droned on—and began to laugh. “You love me? You find me worthy of your love and blessing?” She could hardly believe it. All her life, she’d lived cowardly and meek in the shadow of her courageous sister. Everyone had abandoned her as unworthy. But not her Father in heaven. He had always been with her, always loved her, with or without the Spear! She knew that now.

  Sir Walter obviously thought she spoke to him, for he leaned toward her, a pleased grin on his face. “You may not be worthy of me, my lady, but I grant you the favor of becoming my wife, withal.”

  Nausea brewed in her belly again, but not from any illness.

  The bishop cleared his throat. “Shall we proceed?”

  Cristiana squared her shoulders and said with the authority of her station. “Nay. We shall not! I would not marry Sir Walter were he the king, himself.”

  Gasps and laughter tumbled across the assembled crowd, silenced by one look from Sir Walter.

  The bishop scowled.

  Sir Walter gripped her arm so tight, she let out a shriek. “’Twas not my intention to resort to this, but you give me no choice, my lady.” His whisper wafted putrid on her neck. Then, turning her slightly, he gave a nod to a knight standing by the front gate. From within the tower, the man yanked a child and held her beside him.

  “Thebe!” Cristiana started for her, but Sir Walter’s pinched grip held her back.

  “Cristi! Cristi!” Tears streamed down the little girl’s cheeks as she struggled to be free from the knight. The anguish and fear on that precious face nearly caused Cristiana to fold to the ground.

  “She’s just a babe, you devilish fiend!”

  “Marry me, and she will be safe. If not”—he shrugged— “I will order my knight to run her through with his blade.”

  Chapter 39

  Jarin struggled against the rope binding his hands in front of him as the knights led him from the dungeon, up a winding stairway, and then out a door into the back courtyard of Luxley Castle. A faint glow lit the horizon, streaking the sky in colors so vibrant, Jarin could not imagine executing anyone with such a glorious dawn as backdrop.

  But off to hang him they were.

  In good sooth, with ten well-armed knights as escort! Just for little ol’ him. He smiled. No doubt Sir Walter had heard of Jarin’s skill with a blade, for in truth, with freed hands and a good sword, he could defeat these men. Especially now with God on his side.

  A God…the God… he supposed he was to meet soon enough. Yet he bore no fear, held no doubt that he would be welcomed. Not for his many good deeds, for he knew he’d be found lacking in that area. But simply because Jarin had finally committed his trust to the One who had paid the price for all his errors, his wrongs…his sins. Would that he had more time to honor his new Lord by serving Him here on earth, but that, too, was not in Jarin’s hands. In truth, during the long night, he’d discovered that naught had ever really been in Jarin’s control. Naught save his free will, which he’d used to choose poorly.

  Not anymore.

  He smiled at the knight escorting him on his left, and confusion crossed the man’s eyes ere he offered a scowl in return.

  “Lovely day for a hanging,” Jarin said.

  “Shut your mouth!” a knight walking in front of him shouted over his shoulder as they exited a back gate and began the descent down a hill behind the castle.

  No doubt Sir Walter wished to hang Jarin in private and not in the village as was the custom, for many of the villagers would recognize him as a friend of Alexia. ’Twas for the best. Jarin had no desire to have an audience for so demeaning a death.

  They wove through a small copse of trees, and Jarin peered around branches and leaves, searching for his friends. Surely they had heard of his imprisonment by now. Or mayhap not. He had no idea whether Ronar, Damien, and Alexia still lived in Emerald Forest, or if they were able to obtain any information of the happenings at Luxley.

  Dawn’s light angled through the trees above, shifting light and dark over Jarin as the scent of pine and moss, and the sweat of the knights mingled beneath his nose. He slowed, wanting to savor his last moments alive, to remember the beautiful sights and rich smells of this place.

  The knight behind him shoved him forward.

  He stumbled into a clearing. A gallows stood in the center. A hooded man dressed in black stood waiting at the top.

  Jarin’s heartbeat thumped in his ears. Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump. Time seemed to slow.

  The call of a heron sounded. Odd.

  He glanced around. Something shimmered beyond the trees.

  Whoosh! Whisk!

  The knight beside Jarin toppled to the ground. An arrow protruded from his leg. Before the man could even cry out, another arrow split the morning air and took down a knight in front of Jarin.

  “Run for cover!” one of the knights shouted and the men dove back into the trees.

  Jarin dropped beside the first fallen knight and reached for the knife stuffed in his belt.

  A war cry that could only come from Damien echoed through the clearing. One of the knights grabbed Jarin by the arm and jerked him away.

  But not before he grabbed the blade.

  The chime of a sword being drawn forced the knight around, and he released Jarin. Blades met high, glinting in rays of the morning sun. ’Twas Ronar! His friend fought with the knight, striking blow after blow, first high, then low, then to the side, sending the knight spinning. Finally Ronar struck the man’s head with the hilt of his blade, dropping him to the ground.

  Jarin sliced through his ropes just in time to look up and catch a sword Ronar tossed his way. Gripping the hilt, he grinned. “Your timing is impeccable, my friend, though a little sooner would have been appreciated.”

  “We like to make an entrance,” Ronar returned between heavy breaths, both their gazes drawn to the clearing where Damien fought off three more knights. No time to help him as four more warriors rushed toward them.

  Jarin whirled just in time to dip his sword in defense against one of two knights charging him from behind.

  Ronar thrust his blade toward another knight on his left, slicing his leg, then pulled out his stiletto and flung it at the other. It embedded in the man’s chest, expertly positioned between two plates of armor. The man howled and stumbled backward ere rushing back toward the castle.

  “Pity. I liked that stiletto,” Ronar commented as he took on the remaining knight.

  Jarin whirled his sword aloft then cleaved the blade downward in a hissing sound that ended with a mighty clang as it met the knight’s sword. The other knight charged from Jarin’s left, but Jarin ducked, sending the man tumbling into a tree trunk.

  An arrow whizzed past them and pierced the man’s shoulder, pinning him to the tree.

  The other knight swooped down upon Jarin, but with a snap of his blade, he flipped the man’s sword from his grip and flung it into the trees, then held the tip to the man’s neck.

  “Are you quite finished, or do you wish to play some more?” Jarin asked.

  The knight, a young man with barely a whisker on his chin, glanced over Jarin’s shoulder at Ronar, who was no doubt quickly dispatching the final knight. Turning, he sped off through the trees.

  By the time Jarin faced Ronar, the last opponent was lying flat on the ground, blood spilling from his arm.

  “My friend!” Jarin gripped Ronar’s shoulders, then pulled him into an embrace. “’Tis good to see you.”

  Pulling back, Ronar smiled. “And you! ’Twas unclear you were ever returning to us.”

  The ring of blades drew their gazes to Damien. One of his opponents lay unmoving on the ground, but the other two came at him like battering r
ams.

  “Do you think he needs assistance?” Jarin asked.

  Stabbing his sword into the ground, Ronar leaned on the hilt. “Nay. No doubt he would resent the intrusion.”

  Damien went blade to blade with one of the knights, a man as large as he, whilst the other one plucked out a knife, intending to stab Damien from behind.

  Ere he could, two arrows flew through the air, one so fast after the other, it seemed they were fired together. One struck the man’s arm, forcing him to drop the knife, whilst the other struck his thigh.

  Damien quickly dispatched his opponent, then wheeled to face the other man, disappointment marring his features when he saw he’d already been defeated.

  Lady Alexia D’Clere, dressed in leather vest and breeches, dropped from the trees beyond the clearing and headed their way.

  The woman had the strength of a warrior and the beauty of a goddess, and Jarin could see why Ronar was so smitten. In truth, his friend’s eyes never left the lady as she made her way to them.

  Damien slipped beside her. “I could have handled the other one as well,” he complained to the lady.

  “I have no doubt, Sir Damien,” she responded with a grin. “Alas, time is of the essence. Good to see you, Sir Jarin.”

  “And you, my lady.” He gave a bow, but she drew him close and hugged him.

  When she released him, Damien gripped his arm. “My friend.”

  Jarin nodded toward the large knight, overjoyed to be amongst his companions again.

  Ronar handed him a leather strap, two knifes, and a heavy cloak.

  “What news of Cristiana?” Jarin slipped the baldric over his head, sheathed his sword, and flung the cloak over his shoulders. The others donned hooded cloaks as well.

  “We must make haste.” Swinging her quiver and bow over her shoulder, Alexia pushed past him and rushed toward the castle. “Sir Walter is marrying her at this very moment.”

  ♥♥♥

  Cristiana had no choice. She must marry Sir Walter. For Thebe’s sake. With her eyes never leaving Thebe’s, she addressed the monster beside her. “Give me your troth that the girl can remain here at Luxley under my care.”