Chapter 6

 

Jarin the Just? Swinging about, hands gripping her skirts, Cristiana paced before the hearth in her chamber. She would not believe it if her heart had not swelled to twice its size with the joy of seeing him again. Even now, it thumped against her ribs as if it could burst free and run into his arms.

Muriel stood to the side, hands clasped before her and eyes skittering about in uncertainty. “Was it truly him, my lady?” she said, her tone filled with skepticism.

“Sweet angels, I have no doubt! That voice…those eyes…though I grant you his disguise had me quite fooled.”

“What else did he say?”

“Only that if I wish to escape, I should meet him in the stables at dawn.” Tearing the circlet from her head, she dropped into a chair and drew a hand to her chest in an attempt to calm herself.

Muriel approached and knelt before her, her voice etched in terror. “Tell me you are not thinking of doing so?”

Grabbing her long braid of hair, Cristiana clung to it as if it would give her strength. “’Tis my chance to escape, don’t you see?”

“I marvel you would say so, my lady. Not after what you have told me about this…this knight.”

Cristiana sank back into the chair, sudden tears burning her eyes. “I make no doubt he is a great trifler of women, but he has never behaved such with me.”

“Mayhap he has you fooled?” Muriel’s eyes searched Cristiana’s, and though she knew the maid meant well, the insult pricked her ire.

“You make too free, Muriel. You do not know him.”

Muriel rose and backed away, her face lowered. “I beg your forgiveness, my lady.”

“Nay, ’tis I who am sorry.” Cristiana stood and rubbed her temples. “Alack! I don’t know what to do.”

“Forgive me yet again, my lady, but did he not abandon you once before?”

The words pierced Cristiana’s heart, deflating it. She released a heavy sigh and turned to stare at the simmering coals. Aye, he had. At least ’twould seem he’d never searched for her until now. What did he truly want from her? Could she trust him at all? And where was her sister? She’d had no time to ask him ere Lady Braewood approached and once again sat beside her.

Run away with an untrustworthy libertine into a world fraught with danger or remain in a place where she could have security, safety, and stability, though not love.

Her head told her to stay, but her heart—that fickle, capricious and all-controlling organ—told her to run into this man’s arms and follow him anywhere.

She moved to the window where the slightest hint of gray lined the horizon beyond the forest. She must make a decision. Fast. Heart or head…heart or head. A vision of Lord Braewood approaching her bed on their wedding night was all it took for her to rush through the room, gather a few articles of clothing and stuff them in a bag, ere grabbing her cloak from a hook.

“My lady?” Muriel’s agonizing wail turned her around.

“In truth, there is no choice, Muriel. I must go with him. No doubt he knows where my sister is and will take me to her. That alone is worth the risk.”

Gathering what little courage she possessed, she grabbed the door latch, swung it open, and charged from the chamber—Right into a fully-armored guard, lance in hand.

♥♥♥

Jarin the Just leaned against the wooden walls of the stables and gazed across the outer bailey toward Braewood Hall. Night hid most of the courtyard from his view and encased the large home in shadows. Though his eyelids were as heavy as anvils, he’d been unable to rest them for a moment as he waited for a glimpse of Cristiana D’Clere. He had found her! She looked well and even more beautiful than he remembered. Back at Luxley, she’d always been ill and bedridden—due to Sir Walter’s poisoning. Even then, she’d been a picture of beauty. But now, with her fawn-colored hair, dappled in glittering honey, her chestnut eyes surrounded by thick lashes, and her full rosy cheeks, she was a vision well worth the wait of these past eleven months. And it had taken every ounce of his strength to wait his turn to approach her. While he did, he found himself spellbound at the kind and loving way she dealt with each person, her smiles, her kind gestures, her gentle touch, even on those covered with pustulant sores. Why had he not realized the lady also possessed the heart of a saint?

She could heal! Jarin rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. In truth, he had not believed Seraphina’s tale in that regard. But he had seen it with his own eyes and now could not deny that Lady Cristiana possessed the Spear and its otherworldly powers.

He also had difficulty believing her reaction at seeing him—one of shock as he’d expected, but also such delight sparkling from her eyes, it made him wonder whether her affection matched his own.

And now the waiting…the night passing like a lame mare limping to her paddock, with naught but the snort of horses, snore of stable boys, and wisps of wind stirring up dust in the courtyard for company. The smell of horse flesh and dung bit his nose, along with a stench of rotted meat emanating from the butcher next door.

He angled his neck and blinked his eyes in an effort to keep them open.

His plan? To disguise Cristiana as a commoner and walk out the front gate with the other servants who left at dawn every morning to hunt, gather food from those who farmed the surrounding land, or travel into the village for supplies. Alas, in order for that to work, she had to be here soon so they could easily blend in with the crowd.

A half-moon dipped behind the wall to Jarin’s left just as the faintest gray appeared beyond the towers on his right.

Where was she? Mayhap she decided not to come, preferred to stay in this prison of safety rather than trust him to protect her. How could he blame her? She hardly knew him, and aside from a brief dalliance at Luxley, she knew him only by his reputation as Jarin the womanizer. Frowning, he scanned the bailey for her once again. Could she have affection for this Lord Braewood? Nay. Seraphina labeled him a blackguard, and from what Jarin had heard in the village, the man’s proclivities leaned more toward tavern wenches and milkmaids.

Regardless, Jarin had not had time to tell her that Sir Walter and the bishop’s men searched for her as well, that ’twould only be a matter of time ere they discovered her whereabouts.

Enough! Jarin would wait no longer. Bosh, either something was amiss, or he must convince her of the danger in staying here. Flinging off his peasant robe, he added a leather doublet, a belt, and several weapons, along with a helmet he’d stolen from a sleeping soldier. ’Twould be far easier to dismiss a soldier wandering about at dawn than a peasant.

Now to find the lady’s chamber.

With all the authority of a King’s Guard, Jarin entered the stone house through the door to the main hall and began his trek up the winding stairs. The only sounds came from the kitchen where scullery maids were setting out the bread and ale to break the fast of the morning. The master’s solar would be at the very top, while those of lower station would be chambered below… but not too far away for someone the lord would wish to keep watch over.

Hence, Jarin wandered down the hall on the second floor, following the few lights remaining from lanthorns perched along the way. ’Twas easy to find Lady Cristiana’s chamber. It was the one with the massive guard standing out front.

♥♥♥

Cristiana sank to her bed in defeat and lowered her gaze. “Lord Braewood knows. Begad! He must know.”

Muriel moved to stand beside her. “I am truly sorry, my lady. Surely he only means to protect you.”

“Protect?” Cristiana glanced up at her maid, her ire rising. “From whom? Nay!” She leapt to her feet and hugged herself. “He keeps me prisoner. Says one thing but means quite another. He would ne’er release such a great source of income.” Hugging herself, she moved to the window. “Alas, mayhap he has discovered I am heir to Luxley.”

The gray beyond the treetops transformed to gold as the sun prepared for its royal entrance. Beneath her in the bailey, servants stirred, going about their tasks. She wondered if Sir Jarin still awaited her at the stables. If so, how long would he remain ere he assumed she preferred to stay—ere he abandoned her once again.

“Did you not say, my lady, that the steward of Luxley intends to trick you into marrying his son?”

Cristiana nodded. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath of fresh morning air, crisp and laden with scents of rosemary and lavender from the herb garden below.

Muriel approached. “What would happen should you bring back a husband? Would that not solve your problems and enable you to return home?”

Cristiana huffed. “He would have to bring an army with him.”

“Then marry Lord Braewood, my lady. He is—”

“Nay!” She opened her eyes and faced her maid. “He is a viper. I will marry a good man, honorable, faithful, and strong.” She glanced back out the window, her thoughts drifting to Sir Jarin. Then defying those thoughts, she added, “And loyal. He must be loyal, a man who would never stray or leave me for another.”

A thunk sounded outside the door. Cristiana crept toward it and leaned her ear against the thick oak. Whack. Groan. Thud.

After casting a glance at Muriel, who was shaking her head in warning, Cristiana gripped the metal latch and slowly pried the door open.

There stood Sir Jarin the Just, looking like the knight she remembered, dressed in leather and metal, and sheathing a blade. The guard lay in a lump by his feet. “Never fear, my lady. He will live.” Then removing his helmet, he effected a courtly bow, his dark hair scattered in every direction, his smile one to melt a dozen maidens’ hearts. “At your service, my lady.” Before she could respond, he straightened and held out a hand. “Shall we?”

So mesmerized at the sight of him, at his brazen courage to come to her chamber door, all Cristiana could do was stare, wondering if she was having a marvelous dream.

She started toward him, but then turned toward her maid. “Muriel, come with us.”

The poor girl backed away, wringing her hands, her eyes alight with fear. “I cannot. I cannot,” she repeated o’er and o’er, and Cristiana couldn’t help but realize how much the girl and she were of similar temperament—terrified of everything, even good things.

“Hurry, my lady,” Jarin said.

Cristiana held a hand toward the maid. “Prithee, Muriel. You can have a better life.”

But the woman retreated even further. “God speed to you, my lady.”

Jarin took her arm and pulled her through the door. “We have no time to waste.” His normal cavalier demeanor was replaced by one of urgency.

“Nay.” She halted. “I won’t leave without Thebe.”

“Thebe? Bosh! Another maid who won’t join us?” But Cristiana had already gathered her skirts and was moving down the hall.

“We haven’t time,” she heard Jarin whisper urgently behind her.

“We will make time.” Turning a corner, she froze, then ducked back behind the wall. Lord Braewood had posted a guard in front of the little girl’s chamber as well. Smart man. She lifted a hand to her throat. The wild pump of blood racing through her veins throbbed against her fingers. Every inch of her wanted to scream out in terror. What was she doing? How could she and Thebe possibly escape with but one knight’s help?

Jarin peered around the corner. “I suppose that to be Thebe’s chamber?” Then moving far too close to Cristiana, he gazed down at her and raised one brow. She lowered her eyes from his disarming look of censure and stared instead at the leather doublet stretching across his wide chest. The man smelled of horseflesh, leather, and spice, and she didn’t know whether to fall into those strong arms and beg him or push him back and rescue Thebe herself, as she longed to do. But bravery was not her forte. ’Twas her sister’s realm of expertise.

“I won’t leave without her,” she said with a conviction that seemed lacking in her tone.

He gripped her shoulders, glanced back at Thebe’s door, then uttered a low growl. “Stay here.”

Releasing her, he sauntered down the hall as if he were lord of the manor. The knight looked up and stared at him suspiciously. “What brings you here?”

“I’ve been sent to relieve you. Onward to your cups and your sleep.” He slapped the man on the back. “You’ve earned it.”

The knight widened his stance. “And who precisely are you, sir?”

“As I said, your replacement.” Jarin smiled.

“I’ve been told of no such orders.” The knight stared straight ahead. “And I’ve never met you before.”

Jarin ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I was afraid of that.” In a move too fast to see, he slammed his elbow across the man’s chin. The knight stumbled to the right, and before he could gain his balance, Jarin grabbed him from behind, pressed an arm around his neck and squeezed.

The poor knight clutched Jarin’s arm, gasping and choking, his face turning red. He attempted to kick his feet behind him, but with every thrust, Jarin leapt out of his reach.

Cristiana held her breath, unsure of whether to be enthralled or terrified.

Finally, the knight folded like a piece of parchment—a rather large piece of parchment—and crumpled to the floor.

Creeping out from hiding, Cristiana glanced down at the fallen knight. “I suppose he will live as well?” She tried to smile but her tight nerves forbade the action.

Jarin winked at her and opened the door.

“Thebe!” Spotting the child, she knelt with open arms, and the babe flew into them.

“A child?” Jarin spat out.

“Indeed.” Ignoring his look of alarm, she entered the chamber, gathered clothes for the little girl, along with her favorite doll, and stuffed them in her bag. Then hoisting Thebe in her arms, she started out the door.

No further protests came from Sir Jarin, save for an occasional moan of displeasure as together they flew down the stairs, doing their best not to awaken anyone. Naught could be done about the servants bringing in fresh reeds for the main hall floor and stirring the coals of the massive hearth.

Some stared at them and gasped as they passed, and Cristiana knew they would soon alert Lord Braewood.

“Make haste,” she all but screeched. Terror threatened to turn her about, to take Thebe back to the safety of her chamber and scatter all thoughts about ever escaping.

“As I’ve been saying, my lady,” came Jarin’s sarcastic response. He led her out into the bailey where the main gate stood open, allowing several servants to exit for their daily work. Two fully-armed knights stood on either side.

Until now, she hadn’t considered what Sir Jarin’s plan might be. Surely he didn’t expect to stroll out of Braewood Hall without being stopped. Nay. He led them to the stables.

“Horsey ride?” Thebe said.

“Nay, dear one. Shh, now.” They ducked into the barn just as a shout echoed over the courtyard. “Find them immediately!”

’Twas Lord Braewood’s voice, and it was quickly followed by the captain of the guard braying further orders for the knights to search every inch of the castle grounds.