Chapter 14

 

Ushering Lady Cristiana and the babe before him, Jarin followed Father Godwin into a small courtyard and past the chapel and cemetery. Monks, faces lowered beneath cowls, moved about in the morning mist curling around their feet, seemingly hovering above ground as they prepared for their morning prayers.

Lady Cristiana had healed Brother Jeffrey’s malformed foot!

The fact kept slipping into Jarin’s thoughts, though he’d rather focus on the task at hand—an impossible task, that. Escaping a band of well-trained soldiers who had them surrounded.

Yet…she had healed the boy. When no other prayers had worked. Not even Father Godwin’s.

Jarin had seen too much to doubt the power of this Spear of Christ. But ’twas the love and care of its present owner that had him baffled. Lord Braewood had forced her to heal. This she’d done of her own will. Regardless of the perilous circumstances in which she found herself, she thought of others, strangers even, wanting to help, heal, and restore, qualities which belied everything he believed about women of title. About most women.

Yet Cristiana differed in many ways from other privileged women he’d met. Which may have been what attracted him in the first place. She surprised him, confounded him, and even astounded him, as in the look she’d given him when he’d entered the hall with Father Godwin. A look of surprise and delight that nearly sent him running to her side.

He ran to no lady’s side. In good sooth, they usually ran to him.

Tiny droplets of mist created a shimmer over her hair as she walked in front of him, making her look like some heavenly creature who dared to walk amongst mere mortals. However, despite her angelic appearance, he could feel her fear trailing in the wake of her sweet fragrance.

Yet how could he comfort her when he had no assurance they would escape unscathed?

Wide-eyed, the babe stared at him over her shoulder, bouncing up and down with the lady’s movements. Egad, but the wee one was a sweet slice of heaven. If there was such a place.

They passed the kitchen where pots and pans rattled, and the scent of oatmeal and eggs rose to lure a growl from Jarin’s stomach.

Diving into a building on the side, Father Godwin grabbed a lit torch and immediately descended a stairway to the wine cellar. A chilled mustiness cloaked Jarin, and he smiled. How many hours had he and Brother Quinn spent down here drinking wine when they should have been at evening services? Too many to count.

Godwin pushed against a tall wooden rack laden with corked bottles.

“Here, help me, Jarin.”

Together they shoved it aside, and Godwin retrieved a large blade from the rack and pried open one of the wooden planks lining the wall. Dank, icy air smelling of moss, dirt, and age, blasted over them.

Lady Cristiana coughed.

Father Godwin held the torch up to see Jarin’s face. Sorrow lingered within his tender smile. “Make haste to Sancreet village, a stone’s throw east from here. Find the spice monger’s shop. Ask for Master Teagan, and tell him I sent you for Challenger. He’s a sturdy palfrey.”

Jarin shook his head. “I cannot take your horse.”

“And I cannot smuggle a knight’s warhorse out of Tegimen.” The abbot smiled. “Besides, ’twill give you an excuse to return and see us again. Collect him when you are done with whate’er war you now wage.” He waved a hand through the air and shook his head.

Jarin nodded. One horse for the three of them. ’Twould be difficult but better than going on foot. “You have always been…”—Jarin’s throat closed as he looked at his friend. In truth he’d been a father to Jarin, the best father any man could want. “Thank you for your help.”

“You are always welcome here. And you, my lady.” Godwin turned to Lady Cristiana.

With hands full, she dipped her head. “Thank you, Abbot.”

“Take care of this precious child.” He made the sign of the cross on Thebe’s forehead and kissed her.

The little girl giggled.

Father Godwin gestured toward the tunnel entrance. “’Tis narrow and low. You may have to crawl in some spots. Oh.” He gripped Jarin’s arm. “Should you need help on your journey, Brother Quinn, I mean, Lord Quinn resides now in Savoy village. I know he’d like to see you again.”

Lord Quinn? Jarin nodded. Quinn and he had been the best of friends once. He gripped Father Godwin’s arms and thanked him again ere he turned to Lady Cristiana.

“I’ll carry the girl.” He held out his hands, but the babe ducked her head into Lady Cristiana’s neck.

“She doesn’t know you yet, Sir Jarin. And she’s been through much this past day. I’ll manage.”

“My son.” The abbot’s urgent tone drew Jarin’s gaze. “The answers you seek are not of this world. You must seek beyond it for the truth.”

Jarin had no response, nor did he want his parting words to be harsh. Hence, he merely nodded and dove into the tunnel. The abbot had been right about it being narrow and low, for most of it was only large enough to crawl through. Behind him, he could hear Lady Cristiana’s moans as she struggled to keep up.

With no torch to guide the way, Jarin could only lumber along, sometimes crawling, sometimes inching forward on his haunches, a few sections nearly standing. Of a sudden, his hands struck a wall of dirt. The end of the tunnel.

Lady Cristiana bumped into him. Her breathing heightened.

He felt above. His fingers touched wood, and he shoved the plank upward and set it aside. Light blinded him for a moment ere he gripped the edge and hefted himself up, setting his pack aside. ’Twas a narrow cave, or rather, as his eyes adjusted, a cleft between two large rocks that met overhead like lovers in a kiss.

When he’d asked Father Godwin about the tunnel, he had simply replied with a twinkle in his eye, “Even monks need a way of escape from time to time.”

The babe appeared in the hole. Grabbing her, he set her down next to him, then after retrieving Cristiana’s sack, he helped her up as well. She clung to his upper arms as he hoisted her…mayhap a bit too quickly, for she landed in his lap. Her breath, sweet and hot, wafted over him as their eyes met just inches apart. He was a rogue of the worst kind, for he longed to take liberties and kiss her right there. And if he was right, from the look in those lustrous brown eyes of hers, she wanted the same.

He lowered his gaze to her lips and licked his own.

She inhaled a sharp breath and struggled for release.

“How dare you!” Leaping from him, she scooted back on all fours as if he had the plague, then struggled to rise.

The sound of leaves crunching halted her. A male voice echoed through the heavy air, followed by another, and then a chuckle. She bit her lip, eyes wide, and glanced over the tiny space formed by the barricade of boulders. Horror screamed from her face as she whispered, “Where’s Thebe?”

♥♥♥

Cristiana’s heartbeat had finally begun to settle from Jarin’s near kiss only to vault again when she realized Thebe was missing. No time to berate Jarin for his lack of attention, for she’d been just as consumed in the moment as he. Opening her mouth to call for the child, she dashed for the only gap in the rocks large enough to squeeze through, desperation and fear blinding her to all else.

Especially to Sir Jarin who leapt in her path.

A firm hand pressed over her mouth ere she could utter a word. She struggled in his grip.

“If you wish the child to live,” he whispered in her ear, “be still.”

Male voices resounded through the forest again. Closer, it seemed. Of course Sir Jarin was right, but how could she stand there and do naught?

Slowly, he released her and removed his hand. She pushed past him, squeezed through the opening, and emerged into a forest lush with moss-covered trunks and boulders and a bed of ferns covering the ground. Morning mist drifted among the trees allowing only sparse beams of golden sunlight to enter. No sign of a child.

A chill scraped over her.

She wanted to yell, to scream, to run about in a wild search, but Jarin emerged behind her, drew his blade and bade her to remain calm. “We will find her,” he said with a confidence that surely came from being an elite King’s Guard and had naught to do with the truth of their present situation.

The male voices increased. “I hope we catch the wench soon. I could use some good ale to wet my lips,” one of them said.

“Aye, I’ll agree with that,” the other replied.

Cristiana’s world twisted in a mirage of greens and browns. Forsooth, she could hear her own heartbeat, feel the mad rush of blood through her veins. Thebe, oh, Thebe! Grabbing her skirts, she charged forward.

Sir Jarin appeared beside her, took her hand and pressed a finger to his lips. A world of assurance drifted across his eyes, and she could see why men followed him into war.

A child’s laughter bubbled through the forest like a butterfly flitting from branch to branch.

Cristiana started in that direction, trying to free herself from Jarin’s grip, but it remained firm. Yanking her beside him, he proceeded toward the sound…excruciatingly…excruciatingly slow.

Thebe! At least she was alive!

Rounding the large trunk of a tree, Sir Jarin shoved aside a wall of ferns nearly as tall as she and approached the edge of a small clearing. A creek slid across the moss-laden ground like a silver snake, and Thebe sat by its edge, dipping her hand in the water and giggling as it rushed over her skin.

Thank God! Cristiana released a breath and started toward her, but Sir Jarin shoved her behind him so forcefully she dared not move. His entire body stiffened like the trunks of one of the mighty trees around them. Even his knuckles whitened where he held his sword.

The male voices grew louder.

“Did ye hear that?”

“Aye. Sounded like a child.”

Cristiana grew dizzy. Her vision blurred. She stared through the brush toward the voices when two soldiers, fully armed, marched into the clearing, heading straight for Thebe.

♥♥♥

’Twas all his fault. Jarin had put this innocent child at risk—all because of his uncontrollable passions. Now, he’d be forced to fight these two soldiers. Not that he’d have difficulty dispatching them both, but the noise of the battle could draw others to their aid. Alas, he had no choice.

Both men entered the clearing, saw the child, stood aghast for a moment, then headed toward her with sneers on their faces. Behind him, Lady Cristiana gasped and attempted to shove her way forward.

Pushing her back, Sir Jarin stepped into the clearing, blade raised, an insolent grin on his lips. “Ah-ah-ah, lay a finger on that child and meet the slice of my blade.”

Shock, followed by confusion, then anger, flashed across the soldiers’ faces as both men drew their blades in unison.

“Alas, has the great King’s Guard been reduced to nursemaid?” The larger one cast him a contemptuous look.

The other one laughed. “Should be of little effort to disarm the lightskirt then.”

Jarin grinned and cocked his head. “Come hence and find out.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the babe turn at the voices, rise to her feet, and start for him. Nay! But Lady Cristiana suddenly appeared, swept the child up in her arms, and retreated behind him again.

“’Tis the lady the bishop seeks,” the soldier said, gesturing toward her. “We’ll win a fair prize for her capture.”

With a sigh, Jarin gazed at the treetops as if bored. “I give you one last chance to retreat unscathed.”

A moment’s hesitation, a flicker of fear crossed their eyes, but the fools advanced withal.

Shrugging, Jarin met the first man’s blade with a heavy thwank that echoed through the trees. He pushed him back, then released his sword and swung it around to strike the man’s middle. He leapt out of the way just in time.

Growling like a bear, the second soldier charged, sword whirled aloft and cleaving downward. Jarin stepped to the side, spun, and clipped the man in the leg.

He shrieked as a line of red appeared on his breeches.

The first knight rushed, thrusting his blade at Jarin from left to right. But Jarin effortlessly met each thrust with a skillful parry of his own. Back and forth, high and low, each attack quelled, each swipe halted until the poor man’s breath came fast and terror appeared for the first time in his eyes.

The other soldier came at Jarin from behind, but he wheeled about just in time to clash blades in a hiss of steel. Tiring of the exchange, Jarin slammed the hilt of his sword on the side of the man’s head that bore no armor. He crumpled to the ground.

The confident sneer disappeared from the other soldier’s face as he charged Jarin once again. But Jarin met his low thrust with a counter parry and shoved him backward. The man stumbled, arms flailing and sword waving.

Other voices resounded through the forest. More men. No time to waste. Jarin struck the soldier’s blade with his own. It flew from the man’s grip. Before he could recover, Jarin slugged him across the face, tossing him backward. His head struck a tree, and he toppled to the ground, unconscious.

But ’twas too late. Jarin spotted several soldiers making their way through the brush toward him.