Chapter 23

 

Jarin hated to leave Cristiana and Thebe, but they’d be safe enough within the walls of Savoy Manor. He also hated to delay their journey to Luxley, but he could see the fatigue dragging down the lady, and he would loathe himself should she or the babe become ill. In truth, Quinn’s manor might be the perfect place to hide, for no one but Father Godwin knew of their association. And mayhap once the bishop’s men lost their trail, they’d relent in their mission. At least for a time. Though ’twas a longshot to be sure.

Still, the extra day gave Jarin time to discover the reason for his friend’s melancholy, though Quinn did his best to hide it. They had shared their hopes and dreams once. Mayhap the man would do so again.

Yet all Quinn spoke of as they rode on horseback through the manor lands farmed by his tenants was how great were his holdings and how far he’d risen from being the second son of a minor baron.

Sunlight dispelled the early morning mist, leaving behind sparkling drops over grassy fields and transforming the countryside into a magical place of wonder. Geese slid atop crystalline ponds as birds of every color danced among the branches of trees. And Jarin suddenly wished Cristiana was present to share the beauty. A beauty that was soon marred by the living conditions of some of Quinn’s tenants. Broken-down shacks provided the only shelter for the villeins dressed in naught but rags as they went about their work.

Upon seeing their lord ride by, they gave the required bow of obeisance, but none approached to ask him for assistance in repairs. A strange sight, that, for Jarin had witnessed many a lord surrounded by adoring tenants begging for his grace with this or that. Jarin longed to ask about the shabby conditions but could hardly get a word in with all of Quinn’s self-aggrandizing bluster.

Thankfully, a gust of fresh wind blew away the smell of manure and disease as they left the final cluster of farm homes and started for the small village of Savoy.

“You are most fortunate, my friend,” Jarin said. “Lord of such a manor. Who would have guessed such a thing as we gulped down wine in the abbey’s cellar?”

Quinn’s dark hair blew in the breeze as eyes, dull from his morning spirits, found their way to Jarin. “That I would be so fortunate to have my grandfather, father, and brother die in the same day? Not I.”

His callousness dismayed Jarin. “I am sorry, my friend. Was it difficult for you?”

“Nay. They bore me no affection, as you may remember. Begad! They would hate knowing I am now lord of Savoy Manor.” He gave a wicked chuckle.

“Yet, here you are with land, position, and power. ’Tis what you always wanted, is it not?”

Quinn made no response, merely turned to Jarin with a wink. “Race you to the village?”

Jarin laughed and immediately spurred his horse to take off at a full gallop. Wind blasted through his hair and slapped his face, stealing his breath and making him feel as though he flew through the air. Such a sense of freedom he’d not known in some time. Quinn kept pace with him, his palfrey’s muscles rolling and swelling as the beast charged forward. He laughed and smiled at Jarin, and in that smile, Jarin saw the boy he had once known.

Regardless, he could not allow him to win! Lowering his head, Jarin sped toward the small collection of buildings at the end of the road, passing Quinn by a horse-length ere he slowed the animal at the village entrance.

Quinn, however, charged straight into the village, scattering chickens, pigs, and villagers alike. One lady screamed as she gathered a child in her arms and darted out of the way.

Oblivious, Quinn lifted his hands. “I win! Welcome to my humble village, Jarin.”

Humble indeed, as Jarin had noted the day before. In truth, he could see from one end to the other. Several buildings inhabited the space in between, a parish church, an inn with a pub attached, storehouse, leather worker, and apothecary. Also perched along the muddy and rutted streets were homes of wattle and daub where cow’s heads poked out windows and children tramped through mud with the pigs. The smell of feces, both human and animal, along with woodsmoke and rotted meat swept over Jarin, nearly knocking him from his horse as they made their way through a procession of carts, hay wains, piemakers, and fishmongers. None spoke a word to Quinn. All quickly sped out of his way.

Ere he knew it, Quinn had stopped at the pub, dismounted, and gestured for Jarin to follow him inside. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. It took less time for his nose to curl from the stench—much of the same as ’twas outside, but stronger and with the added sting of alcohol. A fire blazed on the far side of the room before which several benches and tables were strewn. Candles provided the only other light, including several hanging from the ceiling on a wooden chandelier.

Other things hung from the ceiling, animal carcasses, sacks full of grain, ropes, and an iron cage, housing a bird whose song could not be heard above the clamor of the men below, at least a dozen of them, some shouting, some singing, and some whispering secrets. All deep in their cups. Odd for so early an hour. Large barrels were stacked behind a wooden bar where two men poured wine for serving wenches who sashayed over straw covered floors, drawing the gaze of several salivating patrons.

Two of the women greeted Quinn with a smile as he plowed through the crowd and, upon finding an empty table, plopped down and shouted, “Wine for my friend and me!”

A woman slinked in their direction. Golden curls circled an angelic face at odds with her surroundings. Her innocent expression ’twas also at odds with her tight corset that pushed much of her chest into view, leaving little to the imagination. She slammed two mugs on the table and then leaned forward, exposing more of herself to their view.

Jarin had not been with a woman in…how long had it been? Years? Nay. Could not be. Yet he could recall neither the date nor the face of his last tryst. Which did naught to explain why his body did not react to such a flagrant display of female flesh.

Bosh! What had happened to him? Had he lost his allure with women? Nay, not from the look in this one’s eyes.

“She’s a pretty thing, is she not?” Quinn reached out and drew the woman near ere leaning to nibble on her neck.

She giggled, but her eyes were on Jarin, luring him with their suggestive look. Then, wrapping her arms around Quinn’s shoulders, she perched on his lap. “Where ’ave ye been, my lord. I ’aven’t seen ye for a fortnight.” Her gaze slithered to Jarin. “An’ who be yer friend?”

“Mistress Dulcia, may I present Sir Jarin the Just, an old acquaintance of mine.”

“Pleasure, sir.” She offered her hand, which Jarin took out of politeness, attempting to keep his eyes off her half-exposed bosom. Why? He could not say, for he’d never averted his eyes from such pleasure before.

“Do ye not have a friend for Sir Jarin?” Quinn glanced around the smoke-filled room. “Where is Adelais?”

“What need ’ave ye of Adelais? I can ’andle ye both.” Giggling, the woman leapt off Quinn’s lap and onto Jarin’s. She smelled of lilacs, sour wine, and a thousand men’s hands. Despite her feminine curves, Jarin politely nudged her back to Quinn.

“If you please, mistress, I have no doubt Quinn shall be able to satisfy you fully.”

Dulcia stuck out her bottom lip in a feigned pout that appeared more ridiculous than charming.

Quinn grabbed her by the waist, drained his mug, and slammed it on the table. “In good sooth, Jarin, I begin to worry for you, my friend. Dulcia, fetch me another drink.” He all but shoved her from his lap, his eyes following her as she sashayed away.

Sipping his wine, Jarin studied his friend. Aye, they had dreamt of tasting all the delectable delights life had to offer, but Quinn was lord of a manor now. Surely ’twas time to put childish things away. Jarin shifted in his seat at the thought. Had he?

Dark shadows reappeared around his friend, stealing the sparkle from his eyes when his gaze returned to Jarin.

Jarin leaned forward on the table. “Get a wife and be done with all this roistering, Quinn.”

“Odds life! That coming from you?” Quinn gave an incredulous laugh.

Jarin sat back, hiding his disappointment. “Our lives are different now. I am a knight. You are lord of a manor.” He glanced over the trollops in the room. “A decent lady would do you good.”

Quinn huffed and raked back his hair. “A lady, indeed. A woman of status and purity. Yet I cannot obtain more than a glance from such a one, though I admit they are rare in Savoy.”

Jarin raised a brow at their surroundings. “And most rare in such a place as this.”

“Where else to have my needs met?” Quinn shrugged and glanced toward Dulcia who was approaching with more wine.

The shadows around him moved yet again, spinning and coiling around Quinn like a dozen snakes. Jarin rubbed his eyes. Merely a trick of the flickering candlelight.

“But you, Sir Jarin, have caught the eye of Lady Cristiana.”

Ignoring the leap of his heart, Jarin took a sip of wine. “Nay. The lady is far above me.”

“She looks at you as if her whole world depended on your smile.” Sorrow dragged down Quinn’s features as he stared into his empty cup.

“Forsooth!” Jarin laughed. “You have taken too much to your cups to see clearly. She tolerates me for my protection and escort home, for I have told her I am not a man inclined to wed.”

Quinn lifted his gaze. “So you have made her no promise?”

Dulcia set another mug full of wine onto the table and started to slide back onto Quinn’s lap, but he sent her away with a wave of his hand.

“Nay.” Then why did the thought sadden him? Even worse, why did it bring an odd smile to his friend’s lips and a shiver of alarm through Jarin? He shrugged it off and glanced over the dim room. Two patrons playing cards began shouting from their table in the far corner. Oddly, a strange darkness hovered over them both.

The bird in the cage shrieked. Swinging his gaze back to Quinn, Jarin rubbed his eyes. “Come now, you have land and fortune. Mayhap you have not been called to court, but surely you can catch the eye of a woman of good standing.”

Quinn gulped his wine, then fingered the mug, chin lowered. “The eye mayhap, but the empty coffers offer no incentive to wed.”

Jarin stared at him, confused. “Bosh, you jest! How now?”

“I grant you, I have land and a home, but, alas, no coin to my name.”

“Surely the crops from your land and rent you receive from your tenants provide a satisfactory income.”

“It would, had I not gambled it away playing dice and even now owe money to lenders, along with usury. I may have to forfeit a portion of the manor and mayhap even the house itself.”

Jarin pushed aside his mug and closed his eyes, his heart growing heavy at his friend’s lack of restraint. But hadn’t they bragged about such bold freedom when they were young? “That saddens me greatly, my friend.”

“I do not suppose you could loan me a sum.” Quinn looked up at him, sheepishly.

“Alas, I am as destitute as you at the moment, being no longer employed by the king.”

Nodding, Quinn tossed the remainder of his wine down his throat, then slammed his mug on the table, his head swaying as if battered by the wind from all sides. He raised his hand to draw the wench’s attention for more wine, but Jarin grabbed his wrist and lowered it.

“Mayhap you’ve had enough, my friend. Drink never solves such problems. Let’s be away to the manor. Are we not having a feast tonight?”

Nodding, Quinn allowed Jarin to assist him up. Back outside, he mounted his horse with difficulty, and they walked their palfreys the short distance to the manor house.

Once they had thought lives unencumbered by responsibility and rules would bring them the pleasure and adventure they sought. Yet all that life appeared to have brought Quinn was misfortune and sorrow.

And Jarin couldn’t help but wonder that, if he didn’t change his ways, would he end up like Quinn someday, alone and miserable?

♥♥♥

Feeling a bit out of sorts without Sir Jarin close by, and loathing herself for it, Cristiana spent most of the day investigating the areas both inside and outside the manor house, which included a dairy, buttery, kitchen, pantry, stables, henhouse, chapel and gardens. Thebe particularly enjoyed watching the chickens strut about, and the man in charge was kind to allow her to feed them with handfuls of dried corn. Her laughter as she watched them scramble to eat the scraps warmed Cristiana nearly as much as the sun. However, they spent most of their time in the gardens where herbs of all kinds—rosemary, lavender, lemon, meadowsweet and comfrey—blended to create a smell so pleasant, Cristiana longed to stuff it in a bottle to save for a time when she was feeling sad or afraid.

Thebe also enjoyed the flowers, most of which were in full bloom under the summer sun. Roses, daffodils, lilies, and violets created a colorful palette in the small garden as they wandered through the narrow pathways, singing songs and enjoying a rare moment of peace and joy. The sweet warble of birds filled the air, along with the buzz of bees and the distant clank of a blacksmith’s hammer.

“Cristi, pink rose!” Thebe tugged from her grip and darted to the bush ere she could stop her.

“Do not touc—”

Thebe let out an ear-piercing wail, holding up her finger, where a drop of blood appeared on her skin.

Kneeling, Cristiana embraced the crying child, then nudged her back, withdrew a handkerchief from her cote, and wrapped it around her finger. “’Tis all right, Thebe. Roses have thorns. You must be careful.”

Crystalline tears slid down the little girl’s cheeks, and Cristiana wiped them away, suddenly realizing how much she had come to love Thebe and how hard ’twould be to ever part from her. But she couldn’t think of that now.

“Why thorns?” Thebe whimpered out.

Why thorns, indeed. Why did it seem the most beautiful things in life came at such a cost? “I do not know, darling.” Cristiana kissed Thebe’s finger and started to rise when she spotted an old woman approaching from down the path. Dressed in stained peasant garb that fluttered in the breeze, the woman shuffled along, red blossoming on a face wrinkled from much time in the sun. She halted before them, her wide grin revealing two missing teeth.

Cristiana drew Thebe close.

“What’s this now?” The woman’s hooded gaze drifted from Cristiana to Thebe.

“Forgive us for disturbing you,” Cristiana returned. “The child poked her finger on a thorn, ’tis all.”

“Ah, you must be Lord Quinn’s guests. I ’eard there was a child with ye.” She brushed a wayward strand of gray hair from her face.

“Are you the gardener?”

Her eyes sparkled with a youth that belied her lined skin. “Aye, for now.”

What an odd thing to say. Cristiana studied her yet felt no fear in her presence. In truth, quite the opposite.

“’Ere ye go, wee one, I’ll cut a rose for ye.”

“There’s no need.” Cristiana protested, but the woman had already plucked a knife from her belt and sliced off the loveliest pink rose from the bush where Thebe had pricked herself. She proceeded to cut off its thorns as well ere extending it to the child.

“I thank you, good lady. ’Tis most kind of you.”

But Thebe retreated a step, holding up her injured finger.

“Faith now, does it still hurt?” The woman lowered her wide girth to kneel before Thebe, wrapped the finger between her palms and held it tight. Smiling, she began singing a song so completely out of tune, it made Cristiana cringe.

“God makes all things well,

Plants, flowers, trees, and critters,

And even little girls

Aye, God makes all things well…”

Thebe loved it and giggled as the woman continued to sing. Then, releasing her tiny finger, she handed her the rose yet again. This time Thebe took it with a small curtsy and a “thank you.”

“You are most kind,” Cristiana said. “Lord Quinn is blessed to have you.”

Hand pressed on her back, the woman rose with a groan. “Ah, but does he ’ave me?” Then smiling yet again, she turned and began waddling away.

Thebe dove her nose into the petals of the rose, giggling with delight.

“Let me see your finger, darling.” Unwrapping the handkerchief, Cristiana stared at the spot where the rose had pricked. No blood. Not even a mark. She glanced back down the path, but the old woman was gone.