Chapter 24

 

Thebe’s little hand tightly clasped within hers, Cristiana descended the stairs into the main hall. Music and laughter drifting up to her chamber had alerted her that their evening meal was about to commence. Though she was in no humor for a celebration, she would attend so as not to embarrass Sir Jarin in front of his friend. In good sooth, she could not deny that the beautiful attire Lord Quinn had ordered brought to her chamber was an added enticement—a gown of ruby red laced in silver filigree and embedded with emeralds that matched the color of the velvet girdle about her waist. He’d also sent a silver necklace, velvet slippers, and circlet of flowers for her head. In truth, she hadn’t felt this lovely in a long while.

No gowns had been sent for Thebe, nor a much-needed bath drawn for either of them, but Cristiana had done her best to make the girl presentable. Most people took no note of children, but if they did, they would see naught but the child’s sweet smile and good temperament.

She expected to see a larger crowd filling the hall—those of high enough position from the manor or from the village—a steward, clerk, other members of the clergy, and a knight or two. Hence, she was surprised to find only a single vicar, a well-dressed elderly couple, another man with a face as stern as a rock wall, and two men whom she’d seen among the guards. Aside from the four minstrels plucking instruments in the corner, a bevy of servants ran to and fro with jugs of wine and trenchers full of the first course of their meal, wafting the scent of meat and spices over Cristiana.

Against her will, her eyes sought out Sir Jarin among the meager crowd—him and him alone. Apparently, either Lord Quinn had not offered him finer attire, or he had refused such, for she found him, arms folded over his sleeveless leather surcote, talking with Quinn. The same linen shirt covered his chest and arms, the same brown breeches tucked within black leather boots, the same dark hair and trimmed beard, and the same belts circling his waist from which his ever-present sword and knives hung. He seemed distracted, disinterested even, as he kept listening to his friend, glancing occasionally over the hall as if looking for something…or someone.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, his gaze locked upon her, and a slow smile lifted his lips. Against her will, a delicious sensation trickled through her.

“Jarn!” Thebe attempted to tug from Cristiana’s hand.

“Nay, Thebe, remember what I told you?” Cristiana kept her in place. “We must behave like ladies this night.” Yet how could she blame the child for wanting to do something she longed to do herself, run into Sir Jarin’s arms?

A man who had made it quite plain he never intended to wed.

She must remember that even now as she wove her way through trestle tables clothed in white and servants hustling about. All the while Sir Jarin’s eyes remained on her as if he could look nowhere else.

Thebe finally yanked from Cristiana’s grip and dashed toward the knight, who once again knelt to receive her and swept her into his mighty arms. The scene offered Cristiana little aid in erecting a fortress around her heart against the man’s charms.

Lord Quinn approached and took her hand. “You wore the gown I sent.” He seemed surprised at first but then a deviant pleasure filled his smile. “If I may be bold, ’tis simply ravishing on you. You are a vision of feminine beauty and grace, my lady.”

“I thank you for your kindness, my lord, for I had naught else to wear but what I wore when I arrived.”

“Such things should not be tolerated for so fine a lady.” He forced her arm upon his and led her to her seat, giving her a chance to admire his lavish attire for which he obviously spared no expense—a tunic of fine blue wool adorned with fur at the collar and a silver belt about his waist.

“I trust my servants have provided for your every need?” he asked. “Should your clothing need mending or washing, they are at your disposal. Or mayhap a bath for you and the”—his gaze landed on Thebe still in Sir Jarin’s arms, and his tone suddenly sharpened—“child.”

Curious at the sudden change in the man’s demeanor and blushing at the mention of a bath, Cristiana could only respond with her thanks ere the man introduced her to the other guests.

Finally, Sir Jarin set Thebe between them at the high table whilst Lord Quinn thankfully sat on Sir Jarin’s other side. The vicar, elderly couple, bailiff, and two guards sat below them on another table. Servants brought basins of water around wherein everyone washed their hands, and then the feast began.

Wine was poured into goblets and trenchers full of ground lamb in a spiced wine sauce were set before them. Cristiana shared a trencher with Thebe, but the young girl, unable to stay still, leapt between her lap and Sir Jarin’s, eating from both trenchers, laughing and playing as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Cristiana envied her innocence. How wonderful to be a child who fully trusted in the care and love of a parent. Something that had been stolen from Cristiana at a young age.

As the second course was served—roasted peacock in almond milk—Lord Quinn ordered the minstrels to play, and the hall was filled with the sound of lute, harp, and fiddle. Thebe clapped her hands in delight as the colorfully dressed musicians began singing and dancing, reciting poetry, and juggling.

“Go see, Cristi. Go see?” She tugged on her hand, wanting to go up close to the minstrels, but Cristiana drew her into her lap.

“We shall, darling. After we eat.”

Sir Jarin maintained a conversation with his friend, stopping occasionally to smile at Cristiana and play with Thebe when she crawled into his lap. On his other side, Lord Quinn’s voice grew in both intensity and incoherence as his words slurred more and more with each glass of wine he imbibed.

Much to her dismay, he would occasionally rise and move to sit beside her, inquiring how she was faring and showering her both with his wine-saturated breath and a plethora of compliments, which only caused further discomfort.

When the third course arrived, apples and pears baked in sugar, the odious man went back to his seat, giving her a reprieve. Did Sir Jarin notice the attention his friend paid her? Mayhap, for when she looked up at him, a flash of concern and, dare she say, protectiveness appeared in his eyes.

The sentiment warmed her as Thebe devoured the sweet fruit in their trencher.

Cheese and more wine completed the meal, but Cristiana had no more appetite. She had not expected such fine fare and thanked Lord Quinn ere she finally relented and allowed Thebe to drag her to stand before the minstrels.

They sang an outlaw ballad about William Wallace, two of them acting out the part of Wallace battling an English lord.

Laughing, Thebe danced before them. The troubadours enjoyed the attention and played along with her, until finally, eyes half-closed, she lifted her arms to Cristiana. Picking her up, Cristiana rocked back and forth to the tune as the other guests continued their chattering and drinking. Before too long, Thebe grew heavy in her arms, and she moved to place her on a nearby couch. The child stuck a thumb in her mouth and wiggled slightly but fell back asleep. ’Twould be impolite to retire without bidding good eve to Lord Quinn and Sir Jarin. Hence, she would return anon and take Thebe to bed. Yet by all accounts, the child slept as soundly here as anywhere, despite the noise. She stroked the girl’s cheek and smiled. What Cristiana would give to sleep so deeply without a worry or care.

“Asleep already?”

Sir Jarin’s deep voice turned her around, and she caught his loving gaze upon the child.

“’Tis been a long day, and she is but a babe.” She scanned the hall and found Lord Quinn had cornered one of the serving maids, standing far too close, and smiling like a man intent on having his will. She pitied the woman and thought to rescue her, but the girl giggled and gave Lord Quinn a coy smile. No doubt she enjoyed his attentions along with the extra gifts and privileges that came with them.

The minstrels began playing a softer tune—a love ballad—more melodic and gentle, and Sir Jarin took her hand and bowed, a twinkle in his eye. “Will you do me the honor?”

“I couldn’t. Alone? No one else dances.”

“In good sooth! I did not ask them.”

She didn’t know whether ’twas the wine, the music, or the allure of this man, but she dipped her head, took his hand, and allowed him to lead her in the steps of a courtly dance she’d only seen performed and never engaged in herself. Steps forward, then back, to the side, then a spin and then back again. How a mere knight possessed the grace of a royal courtier, she could not own. ’Twas a dream every maiden longed for—the music, wine, dancing in the arms of a man such as this—a dream she had long forsaken as out of her reach.

Several times during the dance, Sir Jarin was so close, she could feel his breath upon her, sense the strength and might of him surrounding her.

Yet how gentle he was with his every touch.

“How was your day, my lady?” he asked as they drew closer.

“Thebe and I had an enjoyable time exploring the manor,” she returned, stepping to the side and dipping.

“I am pleased to hear it.”

“And you?”

“I fear not as pleasant as yours.” She thought she saw his smile fade as he made a turn to the left.

No doubt due to spending the day with Lord Quinn. Her eyes found the man still seducing the servant. “Are we to leave on the morrow as you promised?”

He noticed the direction of her gaze. “Aye, first thing in the morning.”

She smiled.

He turned her around and then drew her close, so close their bodies touched. He stood there for a moment, swaying to the music, gazing deeply into her eyes as if he hoped to find great treasure therein.

He smelled of spice and wine and Jarin, and, God help her, she never wanted the moment to end. Instead, she wanted to feel his arms around her, for him to kiss her as he’d done before, to pledge his troth to always remain by her side.

Nay! She sought to regain her senses, for she must ne’er forget the knight’s reputation as one highly skilled in seduction. Nor must she forget that due to that reputation, due to his desire for freedom, he would eventually break her heart and abandon her as everyone else had done.

That she could not allow, for it would completely and utterly destroy her.

She pushed from him. “I beg your patience, Sir Jarin, but I am quite fatigued.”

Cold, drafty air rushed between them, stealing away the warmth and sense of him and leaving an aching emptiness behind.

Pain crossed his eyes, and he slid a finger down her cheek. “One more dance, my lady, I beg you.”

Naught but affection poured from his eyes. Sweet angels, if he but said the word there and then, she’d vow to be his lady—forever. Hence, she did the only thing left for her to do, the only thing that would dissipate the magic blossoming between them. She slapped him across the cheek.

“You use me most ungraciously, sir.”

♥♥♥

Jarin stood abashed, his skin stinging with her strike. If she’d turned into a wolf and bit off his head, he would have been less surprised, for he was sure she’d been enjoying their dance as much as he. As it was, he could only stare at her, the strange look in her eyes—one of desire and anger all mixed in a vicious confused brew—eyes that now shone with tears.

Alack, he’d been slapped before. Many times, if he were honest. Most he had deserved. This time, he’d more than restrained himself, had forbidden his fingers to wander inappropriately, offered her no vain flatteries, though he could have offered many true ones. He’d been the perfect gentleman, enjoying every minute of their amorous dance… the closeness of her, her sweet scent, and the look in her eyes—a look that bespoke the growing connection between them, one he could no longer deny.

Ah, but she was a vision of loveliness, even now in her rage. Her eyes narrowed and her lips quivered as red exploded on her fair cheeks, matching her shimmering gown. A tremble coursed through her, swaying tendrils of her hair that spilled beneath her circlet over her waist. His heart had taken flight when he’d first spotted her descending the stairs—a vision of maidenly beauty and purity. It had never alighted, even as the evening progressed, and he watched her laugh with Thebe and enjoy her feast.

But this?

“My lady, I beg your forgiveness for whate’er I have done. ’Twas not intentional. Mayhap I have been too long away from court.”

She said naught, merely stood staring at him, her chest heaving, her eyes pained.

“What’s this?” Quinn staggered up, his wool tunic flowing about him. “Forsooth! Has trouble invaded your affaire de coeur?”

The lady looked down and pursed her lips ere whirling to face Quinn. “I assure you, my lord, this is no affaire de coeur!”

At the lady’s harsh tone, Jarin’s heart finally landed.

Quinn’s brows arched above eyes red and hazy with spirits. “Beshrew me. I have misspoke, my lady!” His sinister smile gave Jarin pause. “I merely—”

“Good eve to you both,” Lady Cristiana interrupted with a nod and a swish of skirts as she made her way to gather Thebe.

Jarin approached and held out his arms. “Allow me to carry her, my lady.”

“Nay,” she said without meeting his eyes. “I shall manage.”

And the way she said it made him wonder if she meant for more than that moment.

Feeling every bit as if he’d been stabbed in battle, Jarin stepped back, allowing her to leave. Both he and Quinn watched her ascend the stairway until the shadows overtook her. In truth, Quinn stared after her much longer after that, and if the man wasn’t Jarin’s good friend, he’d challenge him to a duel over the look he saw in his eyes.

Alas, the man was clearly drunk, which no doubt accounted for his behavior.

’Twas Lady Cristiana’s behavior that still had Jarin baffled. Women!

Spinning to face him, Quinn lost his balance and stumbled, shrugging off Jarin’s effort to help.

“I nearly forgot my reason for approaching you, Jarin,” he slurred out, blinking as if to clear his vision. “My guards have sighted a band of armed men approaching from the east.”

Alarm fired through Jarin, tightening every muscle. “Are you quite sure?”

“Aye. I’m away to check on it myself.” Quinn turned to leave but stumbled again.

“My friend.” Jarin gripped Quinn’s arm. “You’ve had far too much wine for that. I do not wish to find you fallen off your horse in a ditch come morning. I shall go. If I find them and they are heading this way, I’ll return forthwith, and the lady and I will leave immediately ere we bring trouble upon you.”

Quinn nodded. “You are a good friend, Jarin. I shall await your return.”

Smiling, Jarin doubted it. No doubt the man would be unconscious in less time than it took Jarin to saddle a horse.

♥♥♥

More flustered and unsure of herself than she’d been in a long while, Cristiana carefully pulled back the covers with one hand whilst she clung to Thebe in the other. Gently laying the girl down, she removed her shoes and loosened the ties of her gown. If she attempted to undress her, ’twould no doubt wake the babe, and sleep was the best thing for her right now. Instead, she placed her doll in her arms and covered her with the quilt.

The maid assigned to attend Cristiana laid out her night clothes over the back of a chair. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”

Cristiana sighed and rubbed her temples where an ache brewed. Mayhap a suit of armor impenetrable to the loving glances, heated touches, and insatiable allure of Sir Jarin the Just? Or better yet, a magic carpet that would fly her and Thebe back to Luxley posthaste so she wouldn’t be forced to spend another day with a man who stirred every pleasurable sensation within her.

Instead she said. “A bath. I should love a bath.”

“Aye, my lady.” The woman smiled, curtsied, and left the room. Indeed, never underestimate the power of a hot bath. A good soak never failed to clear her mind, set her resolve aright, and prepare her to face anything that came her way. Alas, mayhap that last thing was a wee bit of a stretch, but the rest were true enough.

Sweet angels, if it were the last thing she did, she would get her mind off Sir Jarin and back where it ought to be—avoiding the army that chased them, returning to Luxley as soon as possible, clearing her sister’s name, and regaining their estate. With the Spear’s help of course.

In preparation for the maids’ arrival, she gathered up her skirts and began untying the binding around her thigh that kept the powerful artifact in place and hidden from all who sought it. Releasing it, she lifted it to a candle. ’Twas but the tip of a once mighty spearhead—a Roman spear, the one that had stabbed the side of Christ. Or so they said. Yet, after what she’d seen of its power, she had no doubt the tales were true. Black stained the very tip, and she dared rub her finger over it, praying ’twas not sacrilegious to do so. To think it might be the actual blood of their Savior.

She shivered and held it to her bosom, tears filling her eyes. “Holy Lord, you have allowed me the great privilege of protecting your Spear, the wonderful joy of experiencing its power…” She gazed down at it again. “And yet you abandon me in every other way.” Mayhap she was not worthy of the love of One so great, the Creator, the one true God.

A knock on the door preceded two men carrying in a large wooden tub, followed by a string of maids with buckets of steaming water. The men set the tub before the fire and left immediately, not daring to glance her way, whilst the maids filled it nearly to the top and deposited soap and towels on a nearby chair.

“May I help you undress, my lady?” the maid asked.

“Nay. That will be all.”

Once the last maid left, Cristiana wrapped the Spear inside its binding and set it on the mantel between a brass candlestick and a painted bowl. Candlelight shifted over the mark on her wrist, and she rubbed it. Still there after all this time. How long would she be the Spear’s protector? Quickly disrobing, she stepped into the tub and sank into the warm waters, allowing them to steal the chill from her bones and the grime from her skin. Leaning back on the hard wood, she released a sigh and listened to the crackle of the fire and the wind whisking past the shuttered window. The feast must have ended, for she could no longer hear the minstrel’s songs or the chatter of guests.

What she did hear were footsteps outside her door, followed by the dull creak as it opened.

“I need naught else.” She waved over her shoulder at the intruding maid. “Prithee, leave me.”

The footsteps continued.

Annoyed, Cristiana opened her eyes and turned to face the servant.

But it wasn’t a servant. Or even a woman.

It was Lord Quinn with a sly grin on his face that would frighten the most valiant warrior.