Chapter 21

 

Jarin, a sleeping babe curled in his arms, kicked open the broken gate and started down the path to the manor house of his friend, Quinn of Savoy. At least he hoped ’twas his friend’s abode, for those in the village had told him so. Albeit with much contempt in their voices, he would add. Which gave him pause. Quinn had always been a jovial sort, full of life, lust, and vigor. There was not a monk at Tegimen Abbey who was not fond of him, though they oft found his antics irreverent. As well as Jarin’s. Hence, Jarin had not been surprised to learn Quinn had left shortly after he had. Word was Quinn’s father, the wealthy lord of a manor, had died, leaving his holdings to Quinn.

’Twas a fortified manor home, more akin to a small castle, and in quite a state of dilapidation, from what Jarin could see in the dim light of early evening. Broken gate, crumbling walls, a hole in one side of the roof. But he had nowhere else to go. Surely his friend would welcome them, give them a meal and place to sleep for a night or two until Jarin could procure a horse. Mayhap Quinn had a palfrey or even an old nag Jarin could borrow. The smell of horseflesh riding on the wind gave him hope.

The sound of Lady Cristiana’s dragging footsteps beside him deflated it. They’d been walking for twelve hours with nary a break, and she and the babe were beyond exhausted. Alas, they’d not even had a morsel of food save some berries Jarin found on the side of the road. If he’d had time, he could have hunted and given them a meal of rabbit or pheasant, but after the incident with the wolves—be they demons or not—he’d wanted naught but to get the lady and the child to safety.

A quarter moon frowned down upon them from a sky where stars began to pop through the velvet blackness. A breeze whipped dust around his boots as he halted before a large wooden door with an iron knocker bearing, of all things, a wolf’s face.

After several interminable minutes, the door creaked open to reveal an aged man sprouting more gray hair upon his chin than his head. Bags hung beneath his eyes to match his swinging jowls, and he wore attire far too large for his bony frame. He held a candle up to them and squinted. “And who be ye?”

“Sir Jarin the Just to see Lord Quinn of Savoy, if you please.”

The candle came closer, the eyes squinted further as they wandered from Jarin to Lady Cristiana and then to Thebe in his arms. “My master gives no charity. Begone.” Then retreating, he slammed the door with a thud.

Lady Cristiana sighed and would have sunk to the stone steps had not Jarin reached out to bear her up.

He rapped the knocker again. The same man appeared, held up his candle, and was about to slam the door yet again, when Jarin poked his boot through the opening. “I demand you announce Sir Jarin the Just to your master at once. Or, good fellow, you may lose your position forthwith.”

The man snorted but withdrew and stomped away with a curse. Sir Jarin ushered Cristiana inside the receiving room and shut the door behind him. Thebe made a gurgling noise and shifted in his arms.

“I will take her, Sir Jarin.” Cristiana reached for the babe. “You’ve been carrying her overlong.”

“I have not minded, my lady. Yet, ’tis amazing how much the wee one weighs after a few hours.” He could barely see Cristiana in the shadows cast by a single rushlight perched on a wall as he placed Thebe in her arms.

“I do hope this Quinn—” she began, but a man’s heavy steps echoed down the hall, ere Quinn of Savoy emerged from the shadows, his servant behind him.

“Jarin!” He opened his arms and pulled Jarin into a tight embrace. The sting of strong spirits flooded Jarin’s nose as his friend drew back and examined him. Eyes that had once been clear and lively wandered over him in a haze of emptiness ere shifting to Lady Cristiana. “Forsooth! Sir Jarin the Just with a wife and child. I ne’er thought to see the day!” He bowed before the lady.

“Nay. We are not…” she began in a stutter. “We are not wed.”

“Not wed!” He winked at Jarin. “In good sooth, the same old rogue you’ve always been.”

“Nay!” Cristiana protested yet again, but Jarin interrupted. “She is but a lady I am escorting home, naught more.” He gestured toward her. “Lady Cristiana, may I present Lord Quinn of Savoy. Quinn, may I introduce Lady Cristiana D’Clere and her young ward, Thebe.”

“A lady?” Quinn’s eyes glittered as he took her hand and placed a kiss upon it. Then, giving Jarin another sly wink, he gestured down a dark hall behind him. “Prithee, come. You must be tired and hungry.”

“We do not wish to trouble you, Quinn,” Sir Jarin said, not willing to go a step farther until he was assured of his friend’s willingness to help. “We lost our horse and food, and I dared to presume you might lend us some supplies for the rest of our journey. Father Godwin told me where to find you.”

“Father Godwin!” Quinn smiled. “How fares the old monk?”

“He is well. The same,” Jarin said. “As for us, I do not wish to impose upon your kindness. I know we come unannounced.”

“I cry pardon. You insult me, friend. I bid you be my guests!”

Relief forced back Jarin’s odd sense of discomfort as Quinn and his man led the way into the main hall where a fire blazed in a large hearth. Taking Lady Cristiana’s arm, he led her to one of only two cushioned chairs perched before it and helped her to sit. The gentle smile she lifted his way did even more to improve his good humor than seeing his old friend.

That old friend now appeared in the light, staggering and snapping at a servant to draw one of the benches closer to the fire. Aside from a few lanterns and rushlights near the hearth, the rest of the hall lay in shadows, musty, moldy shadows, if Jarin’s nose told the truth of it. As his eyes adjusted, the distinct shapes of four trestle tables and a long sideboard formed out of the shadows. A single banner, no doubt bearing the family crest, hung from the high oak ceiling while two tapestries sat askew on the walls.

“Bring some bread, cheese, and wine at once!” Quinn shouted at a nearby serving girl, who scampered off, stirring up rushes spread across the floor. He faced Jarin, firelight shining off his tunic of brilliant emerald slit at the sides, revealing a white cote underneath. A belt of golden circles sat around his waist, the lavish attire at odds with the condition of the house. Yet the face was the same, just as handsome, yet bearing more harsh lines than before. “Prithee, sit.” He gestured toward the other chair whilst he took the bench.

“Fire.” Thebe, awake now and sitting on Cristiana’s lap, pointed at the flames ere shoving her thumb into her mouth.

A thousand questions stampeded through Jarin’s mind. Not the least of which was how had his friend fallen so low? The house, obviously once a beautiful manor home, stood in a state of disrepair inside and out.

“How is it with you, my friend? Where have ye been so long?” Quinn grabbed a nearby mug and took a sip, which, from the way he slurred his words, was what he’d been doing ere they arrived.

Setting down his sack, Jarin removed his cloak and approached the fire, holding out his hands to the warmth. “I became a knight, as I am sure you heard.”

“I did! A King’s Guard. Vak, quite an accomplishment for one so lowborn.”

Jarin bristled, not at the insult, for he’d come to expect such, but from the tone his friend took. One that held no joy at his good fortune and accomplishments.

Quinn tossed the remainder of his drink to the back of his throat, then shouted over his shoulder. “More mead!”

Lady Cristiana jumped at the sound, and Thebe began to whimper, fussing to get down and walk.

Quinn glanced their way, his eyes scanning the lady in a way that disconcerted Jarin.

“And you, Lord Quinn. I see you inherited your father’s manor,” Jarin said, by way of drawing his attention back to him. “A baron! Who would have expected it?”

“Not I! Sadly, my older brother died, and the duty fell to me. Alas, it has given me naught but headaches.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and grinned. “Ah, the times we had at Tegimen, did we not? I oft think fondly on them. ’Tis good to see you, Jarin. How many years has it been?”

Thebe finally won the battle against Lady Cristiana and took off running across the hall.

“Oh, my.” Grabbing her skirts, she charged after her, making both Jarin and Quinn smile.

“Eight, I believe. Far too long.” Jarin smiled at Quinn, seeking the lad he once knew beneath his now solemn exterior. “And you, lord of a manor! ’Tis the dream of many less fortunate.”

Quinn rubbed his dark, pointed beard as if he were contemplating the truth of such a thing. “Aye, a true blessing.” He forced a smile as Cristiana returned, hand in hand with Thebe and halted beside Jarin.

“My lady, pray, tell me from whence do you hail and how did you come to be in this rogue’s company?”

Seated once more, Lady Cristiana looked up at Jarin then over at Quinn. “I am Lady of Luxley in Northland Goodryke, fallen on difficult times and forced to leave my estate for a time. Sir Jarin was tasked with my recovery and return.”

“Ah, Luxley. I have heard of it. Yet why send a single knight? Why not a carriage and host of knights to escort the lady of the estate safely home?”

Thankfully, two servants arrived with platters of bread, cheese, and grapes, along with cups of water and wine, for Jarin was unsure how the lady would answer, and ’twould do them no benefit to tell of the danger following close behind them.

“Food, Cristi. Hungry.” Thebe followed the servants as they spread the plates over a sideboard.

“What need have I of more than one King’s Guard, my lord?” She smiled sweetly at Quinn ere she started after the girl, but Jarin gestured for her to remain seated as he went to gather the child and a trencher of food. Returning with both, he set Thebe in Cristiana’s lap and the trencher on a table to the side.

“Thank you, Lord Quinn, for this repast,” Cristiana said. “I fear we have not eaten today.”

Quinn chuckled and took another sip of his mead. “Gadzooks, my lady, ’twould seem you have at least a need for a cook as well as a knight.”

Jarin took some bread and cheese and returned to his seat as a servant refilled Quinn’s cup. Grabbing it, he clutched it in both hands as if ’twas more precious than gold. But all their gazes focused on Thebe, who entertained them with oohs and ahhs as she delighted in every bite. Grapes were her favorite, and she consumed them with gusto and giggles, exclaiming, “I love gapes,” until the entire cluster was gone.

“No more, my darling.” Lady Cristiana held up a cup for the child to drink.

Then as happy as a well-fed cat, Thebe leaned back against the lady with a smile.

“Ah, to be young again, Jarin. When simple things brought such pleasure.” Quinn’s tone bore a sorrow he’d not known in the man. But then, of a sudden, his mood lifted, and his face lit as he began to reminisce of their time at Tegimen, including myriad questions of its present state. What brothers were still in residence? Did Father Godwin speak of him fondly? Were the grounds the same, the wine cellar in the place they’d left it? Jarin answered what he could, then set aside his plate, casting a glance at Lady Cristiana and the child, both of whom appeared to be sinking lower into the chair by the minute.

“My friend, would it be possible to escort the lady and child to a chamber where they might sleep? ’Tis been a long day.”

“By all means. Forgive me!” Quinn pushed to his feet, swayed slightly, then clapped for one of the servants to come forth.

“Mistress Arlette, please show Lady Cristiana to the west wing chamber and provide her with whate’er she needs.”

Hoisting Thebe in her arms, Cristiana cast Jarin a wary glance, to which he returned a nod of assurance. His friend may have overindulged in drink this night, but Jarin trusted him. They would be safe here. Her eyes acknowledged his unspoken pledge ere she followed the maid up a winding set of stairs.

And he felt the loss of her more than he wished to admit.

“A most lovely creature, Jarin.” Quinn’s eyes followed her. “I will place you in the chamber beside hers with a connecting door.”

A sudden rush of indignation flooded him at the insult to the lady’s honor. Why, he could not say, for he and Quinn had oft spoken thus of women when they were young. “No need. Ours is not… I am not…we…” Oh, Bosh! He was behaving like a foolish stable boy.

“You tease me, Jarin! You, a known philanderer and with every opportunity alone with such an exquisite beauty on your journey. Egad, did you take a vow of celibacy at the abbey I am unaware of?”

His friend’s words cut, but only due to their truth, for even in his days at Tegimen, Jarin had tasted the forbidden fruit of a local farm girl.

“I will admit to many indiscretions in my past. However”—swallowing, he glanced up the stairs where Lady Cristiana had left—“some ladies should be honored.”

As if in defiance of his statement, Quinn grabbed the young woman pouring more wine into his mug and threw her on his lap. She giggled and squirmed as he put his hands in places they ought not to be.

Jarin looked away, the food souring in his stomach.

“Never fear, my friend. I will order one of the serving girls to your chamber later.”

“Nay, I fear I am far too tired this night.”

Quinn shook his head as if he could not imagine such a thing, whilst the girl in his lap gazed at Jarin with seductive eyes.

“Off with you!” Pushing her from his lap, Quinn slapped her behind as she started away. “I wish to speak with my longtime friend. More wine?”

“Nay.” Jarin needed to keep his wits about him. They were still being pursued, and ’twas not the time to let down his defenses. Though he had to admit, merely seeing his friend brought back memories of reveling and roistering, luring his thoughts back to a time without restraint. Why they hadn’t been both tossed from the abbey was beyond him. Alack, ’twas because Father Godwin knew naught of their antics. Or at least most of them. Why did that thought suddenly pinch him with guilt?

Quinn gulped down more wine and stared at the fire, eyes that once had sparkled with mischief now dull and lifeless.

“What happened here, Quinn? Surely you bring in enough from the manor farms to live comfortably?”

He took another sip. “It provides enough, aye, but my father left me steeped in debt.”

Jarin seemed to recall that Savoy Manor had been quite profitable. “It grieves me to hear such news. But take heart. I am sure you will recover in time.” Though surely he’d had enough time already.

Quinn raised his glass. “’Tis the life we both dreamed of as we drank our troubles away in that wine cellar. No responsibility, no rules, no God to follow, and as lord of this manor, I have my pick of the young women in town.” He blew out a snort. “Each one with hopes of marrying and improving their station.”

“And none that has made you wish to settle, to wed and have children?”

“A most damnable folly, Jarin! Do you not remember our pact to remain single and free to sample any feminine delight we wish?”

Jarin did remember, and he had done just that these past years. Yet, in truth, not a single dalliance remained embedded in his memory, just a passing mirage of women and wine. And in the end, loneliness.

Jarin stared at his empty cup. “We were but young fools back then, were we not?”

“I marvel you would say so, my friend.” Quinn looked up, his face creased with confusion. “As for me, I will not be settled. As the Holy Scriptures say, ‘a man hath no better thing under the sun than to eat, drink and be merry!’”

Jarin remembered not that particular Scripture. “But are you happy, Quinn? Is this the life you hoped for?”

“Faith now! Put by this mad talk. What else could a man want—wealth, station, power, wine, and women?” The last word he slurred as he laid his head back upon the chair and closed his eyes.

Moments passed as the fire crackled in the hearth and Jarin’s thoughts twisted in his head. A chill raked over him despite the flames, and he glanced at his friend, who lay with head back and mouth open, snoring. A shadow, black and fluctuating, stood behind him, then disappeared. Jarin rubbed his eyes, and yet when he opened them, more shadows slithered over Quinn, wrapping him in a ghostly restraint.

Jarin was no doubt more exhausted than he thought, for when he stood to confront them, the shadows vanished.

Two male servants approached. “I’ll show ye to yer room, sir,” the smaller one said as the larger one flung Quinn over his shoulder as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

Mayhap he had. Which brought more sorrow to Jarin than he expected. Why did it seem that his good friend had everything in the world, and yet in the end, nothing at all?