Chapter 25

 

Jarin slowed his gelding and patted him on the neck as he made his way down the dusty road. He’d galloped at least three miles in both directions and had not seen so much as a horse-drawn dray, let alone a band of armed soldiers. Either the troop had made camp somewhere for the night, or Quinn’s scout had been seeing things.

Still, the possibility of being discovered by the bishop’s men reminded Jarin that they must be on their way anon, first thing in the morning as planned. He had wanted to stay and help his good friend, cheer him up, offer an idea or two to pay off his debts, get him on the right path. But from Quinn’s present disposition, that would take far too long. Besides, who was Jarin to offer advice? For he lived his life in much the same carefree manner as his friend.

Turning the horse down the path that led to Savoy Manor, Jarin kept his ear tuned to hear the slightest thump of horses’ hooves or the murmur of voices in the night, but all he heard was the dance of wind through the leaves, the distant warble of a night heron, and the thud of his gelding stomping down the road.

A quarter moon coated the grassy fields in milky light and transformed a nearby pond into liquid silver. Even so, shadows gathered amid clusters of trees and bushes and hovered around country homes and barns. Jarin drew a deep breath, relishing in the fresh scent that always came with the night—pine, moss, a hint of lavender, and the hope of a new day on the morrow.

He also relished a moment alone, away from the dissipation of his friend, the clamor of the manor, and the responsibility that sat heavy on his shoulders for the protection and care of Lady Cristiana and Thebe. Out in the countryside with only his sword and horse for companions, he felt free again, unfettered by the restrictions of society, the expectations of man, the commands of those above him—especially a God who demanded much more than Jarin was willing to give.

Then why was he heading back toward the manor, that dark structure he now saw sitting atop a hill, two flaming torches winking at him from the front gate? Winking at him, indeed, as if taunting him, daring him to return instead of prodding his horse into a gallop in the opposite direction. Freedom!

Freedom from whatever spell Lady Cristiana had cast upon him. For no other woman had ever made him consider—even for the briefest of moments—what it would be like to settle down with wife and child. Bosh! Had he lost his mind? ’Twas the one thing he had vowed never to do, never bind himself so tightly to another that he could not do as he pleased, when he pleased. Yet ’twas much more than that, for to truly love someone would mean his certain destruction when they were taken from him. And taken from them they would be, as had happened with his father, then his mother, and finally his sister. Everyone he had ever loved.

Thus, he had vowed never to allow himself to love a woman with the intensity he’d heard about in ballads and seen in friends—the kind of love that drove a man mad and forced him to give up everything for his lady. ’Twas far better to engage in harmless trysts now and then whene’re the mood struck.

Then why, again, was he nearing Savoy Manor? He smiled. Because he could do naught else. Fool!

The front gate creaked open, and an old lady emerged, torchlight accentuating the lines on her face. She waddled as fast as she could up to Jarin.

“Sir Knight, Sir Knight!”

Halting his horse, he dismounted, annoyed at the interruption to his thoughts.

“How may I help you, mistress?” He nodded at the guard standing before the gate, then led the gelding through into the inner court. The woman scurried by his side and yanked on his arm to halt him.

“Your lady is in trouble, sir. You must make haste to her. There isn’t much time.”

♥♥♥

Every nerve screaming in terror, Cristiana scrunched her body as close to the side of the tub as she could.

“How dare you, Lord Quinn! I insist you leave at once!” She still clung to the hope that he was so inebriated, he’d mistaken her door for another. One…two…

That hope spilled to the floor with the water sloshing over the edge of the tub as he continued his approach, eyes that were no longer glazed focusing intently upon her.

“I have no intention of harming you, my lady.” His voice was ripe with desire.

Heart crashing against her chest, Cristiana glanced first at Thebe, praying that no matter what occurred, the child would not wake, then over to the towels set upon a chair just out of her reach. Three…four…

“No harm, you say?” She drew her sopping hair over her shoulder to cover her chest and glared up at him. “I believe you have every intention of doing me harm, of taking that which I do not offer.”

He circled the tub, peering into the water where he ought not. And all the while grinning like he’d won a tournament prize. “You are truly a vision. And if you choose to offer, ’twill go much better for both of us.”

“I would rather be strung up and flayed,” she spat out, tears filling her eyes.

Reaching into the water he snatched a handful of her hair and wrenched her up.

Pain seared through her scalp. She screeched and gripped the side of the tub, doing her best to keep her body covered. Five…six… It wasn’t working! Her terror only grew.

He released her, and she sank back beneath the water.

“If you leave now, I will not speak of this to Jarin.” A sob escaped her.

With a humph, he turned to glance toward the fire. “You think I fear him? Jarin the Just!” He spat out the name, ere his tone turned mocking. “Women always chose Jarin over me. Oh, how the ladies adore him! And now he has achieved knighthood and a King’s Guard at that. Jarin! With the ear of the king.” He laughed. “But of course. Everything comes easy for him.”

Whilst the man blustered on about Jarin, Cristiana inched along the side of the tub toward the stack of towels. If only she could reach one, it would at least provide a small barrier to his violating gaze. Numb with fear, she reached over the tub, her fingers nearly touching the cloth.

He pivoted and slapped her hand away.

She sank back. “You’re jealous of him! ’Tis what this is all about?”

Fury flamed in his eyes as they narrowed and scanned her body once again. “And now he has won a true lady’s affections. Do you think a man like Jarin can love you?” He cocked his head and fingered his beard. “Do you think he will wed you? Bah! Don’t be a fool. He is but playing with your affections, my lady.” Shrugging, he unbuckled his belt and tossed it aside, then removed his blue tunic.

Cristiana couldn’t breathe. Her blood pulsed. Her fingers tingled. “I will scream. Sir Jarin will hear me. Your servants will hear!”

He smiled yet again. “I do hate to disappoint you, my lady, but my servants have been instructed to ignore any clamor emanating from your chamber. And Sir Jarin? I believe he is away from the manor in search of a phantom army.”

What was left of Cristiana’s hope sank to the bottom of the tub as a terror like none she’d known consumed her. “Why? What do you hope to gain?”

“I will have at least one thing that belongs to him.” Lord Quinn swept off his undershirt, leaving only linen breeches. Before he fully faced her again, she spotted clusters of red rashes covering his back from his neck to his waist. She’d seen the condition before. ’Twas one caused by engaging in relations with too many partners. And now he would give the illness to her. She glanced at the Spear sitting atop the mantel, wishing she had not removed it. Oh, Lord, if you’re there, prithee help me!

“Come, my lady.” Quinn held out his hand. “Step out of the water, if you please.”

“I beg you one favor, my lord.”

He eyed her curiously.

“Do not harm the child.” Though she had tried to hold them back, at the mention of Thebe, tears spilled down her cheeks.

He cast a quick glance toward the bed and a wry smile curled his lips. “You have my troth on one condition. Do not wake her with your screams.”

Cristiana nodded and moved toward the edge of the tub, uttering the only thing left for her to say. “Sir Jarin will kill you for this.”

♥♥♥

Jarin charged into the main hall and up the spiral stairway, as tense as he’d ever been before any battle. The old woman had not told him where to find Lady Cristiana, hence he headed toward her chamber. Voices drifted through her door, calm voices. Could the woman have been wrong? Mayhap even mad? Halting, he listened, intending to knock since ’twas obvious Cristiana was awake. Then he heard Quinn’s voice and a woman’s sob, and without hesitation, he drew his sword and burst into the room.

Lady Cristiana sat in a bath, reaching her hand toward an unclad Quinn, intending to rise. And from what he could tell, with nary a stitch of clothing on!

They betray you! Leave at once! A voice, not his own, shouted inside of him.

But then Cristiana turned toward him, her breath coming fast, and tears streaming down her cheeks. Terror screamed from her eyes until they focused on him, and she uttered his name as if it was the answer to all her prayers.

Quinn withdrew his outstretched hand, his eyes widening as he took a step back.

“What goes on here?” Jarin finally said, his gaze shifting between them. Alas, he needed no explanation, for he could see it written on his friend’s face. He charged him, leveling his sword at his bare chest. “You dare ravish my lady! What devilment is this?”

Quinn merely stared at him, the fear in his eyes transforming into anger and then… hatred? But that couldn’t be. Once again, dark shadows swirled about his friend, faster and faster, spinning about his ears as if whispering into them.

The sound of water moving brought his gaze to Lady Cristiana. Her bare shoulders glistened in the candlelight as her creamy flesh blurred beneath the water. He quickly averted his eyes. “My lady, are you harmed?”

Quinn grabbed a candlestick from the mantel and slammed it against Jarin’s sword, knocking it to the floor with a mighty clank.

Cursing himself for allowing a moment of distraction, Jarin charged Quinn, clutched his neck in a choke hold, and shoved him against the stone wall. “How dare you, you craven wastrel!”

Thebe began to cry.

Water sloshed behind him, followed by the pad of footsteps.

Quinn’s eyes peered over Jarin’s shoulder, but he slammed his fist on the fiend’s cheek, forcing his gaze away.

Freeing one of his arms, Quinn slugged Jarin in the gut.

Bending over, Jarin backed away, all the while breathing out, “If ’tis a fight you want, Quinn, ’tis a fight you will get.”

♥♥♥

With Thebe’s cries spurring her on, and with both men distracted, Cristiana took the opportunity to ease from the tub, grab her nightdress, and dart for the bed.

Slipping on her shift, she jumped onto the bed and drew Thebe into her arms. “There, there, darling. ’Tis all right.” Though she had no idea if that was true. She clutched the girl to her chest and watched as Quinn punched Jarin hard in the stomach, sending the knight reeling backward.

Of course they’d be all right. She’d seen Jarin subdue two armed soldiers. Surely he could handle a profligate like Quinn. Alack, the man was his friend! Would that make a difference?

She was shaking. Uncontrollably. And not from the cold. She drew a breath in an effort to steady her nerves when Quinn charged Jarin like a bull intent on breaking through a barn door. Together the men fell backward against the bed post, shaking the bed, and eliciting more cries from Thebe.

Cristiana rubbed the little girl’s back and held her face against her chest to keep her from witnessing the brutality. “You are safe, Thebe. Jarn will protect us.”

Sir Jarin pushed Quinn and slammed his fist across his jaw. Head spinning, Quinn stumbled backward.

“Why, Quinn, why?” Jarin shouted.

Quinn wiped blood from his lips and smiled. “Why not?” He swung at Jarin, but Jarin ducked, spun, and punched his friend in the side.

Moaning, Quinn growled, picked up a vase from a table and tossed it at Jarin. The knight leapt out of the way, and it crashed against the wall.

“Jarn!” Thebe shouted, drawing his gaze.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Quinn gathered Jarin’s blade and pointed it at his chest, breath heaving, and his eyes full of burning malice.

Cristiana gasped.

“Now what?” Jarin spread out his hands. “Are you to murder me, my friend?”

In a move nigh too fast to see, Jarin grabbed a towel, flung it around the blade, and jerked it from Quinn’s hands. It flew into the corner.

With a mighty growl, Quinn charged Jarin, but the knight braced for the impact, grabbed Quinn by the arms, and shoved him aside.

Still he came, eyes crazed as if he’d gone mad. This time he plucked a knife from Jarin’s belt and pointed it at his heart, a maniacal laugh spilling from his lips.

Cristiana drew Thebe closer, begging God for mercy.

Not a speck of fear appeared on Jarin’s face as he studied his friend. “Lay down the knife, Quinn, and be gone. You are clearly outmatched.”

Quinn snorted. “Yet I’m the one holding a knife to your chest.”

Jarin released a heavy sigh. Lifting his arm up to block the knife, he struck Quinn in the gut and kicked his feet out from beneath him. The knife flew from his hand as his head bashed against the tub with a thwunk. He toppled to the floor.

Jarin caught the knife in midair.

Cristiana allowed herself to breathe.

Dismissing the fiend with a wave, Jarin turned to face them, his concerned eyes searching over Cristiana, no doubt for wounds.

Behind him, Quinn struggled to rise.

Jarin started toward the bed. Quinn rushed Jarin.

“Behind you, Jarin!” she yelled.

Wheeling about, Jarin caught the man, spun him around and held the knife to his throat. Blood trickled down Quinn’s neck.

“Nay, Jarin. Nay!” Cristiana shrieked. No matter what Quinn had done, she did not wish him to die, nor for his death to haunt Sir Jarin the rest of his life.

Thebe began to wail.

Chest heaving, Jarin faced them, knife still pressed against Quinn’s throat. Determined fury burned in his eyes, the likes of which she’d never seen in the knight before. But slowly the features of his face loosened, and he lowered his hand. Shoving Quinn aside, he opened the door. “Leave while you still have your life.”

Much to Cristiana’s relief, Quinn cast one last glance toward her, then stumbled out of the chamber.

She dared not to feel safe until Jarin’s strong arms wrapped around her and Thebe—iron bands of strength and comfort. He said not a word, just squeezed tight as his warm breath came hard and fast, flooding them with his scent. Cristiana leaned her head against his chest, finding comfort in the feel of his heart thumping over her cheek. He had saved her. He had come at just the right moment and saved her. Two minutes… ’twas all that had stood between her rescue and losing her maidenhead in the most horrific way possible.

“Prithee, tell me this isn’t a dream,” she finally whispered, fearing that indeed she was being accosted at that very moment, and her mind had transported her elsewhere.

His chuckle rumbled through his chest. “If so, then real pain and blood invade my dreams.”

“You are hurt?” Cristiana pushed from him, searching him in the candlelight and finally seeing blood staining his sleeve. “The knife. It sliced you.”

“Jarn!” Thebe’s sobbing having finally stopped, she freed from Cristiana’s tight embrace and crawled into Jarin’s lap. “You save us.” She nestled against his chest as if she could burrow inside of him.

Cristiana well understood the desire.

He wrapped his wounded arm around the babe, while keeping the other around Cristiana, and drew them both close. He kissed the top of their heads, the action softening every hard place in Cristiana’s heart.

“Prithee, forgive me for bringing you here. I thought…I believed he was…we were friends once.”

Cristiana lifted her gaze to his. “’Tis not your fault, Sir Jarin. How could you have known?” She searched his eyes, finding a mixture of sorrow and something else she dared not hope for within them. “I gave him no encouragement, I hope you know—”

He pressed a finger on her lips. “I do.”

Thebe lifted her face to Jarin’s. “You brave, Jarn. Strong.”

He tapped her on the nose. “Only so I can protect you.”

His affection for the child nearly sent tears to Cristiana’s eyes once again. Good tears this time.

She glanced toward the tub and a shudder ran through her. “He was so jealous of you.”

“Alas, I had no idea.” Reaching up, he placed a finger beneath her chin and forced her gaze back to him. “Forgive me for not being here. Quinn sent me on a fool’s errand to keep me away. Beshrew me, I was a halfwit to believe him.” His jaw tightened.

“But you came in time. How could you have possibly known?”

He shook his head and released a sigh. “An old woman stopped me outside the gate. Told me you were in danger.”

“An old woman?”

“Aye. I’ll grant you, I never saw her before. No doubt one of the servants.”

Cristiana thought of the woman in the garden. “Wrinkled skin, two missing teeth?”

“Aye, that’s the one. Do you know her?” He gave her a quizzical look.

“Nay. Thebe and I met her earlier in the garden. She seemed…she seemed different. I cannot explain. She healed the prick on Thebe’s finger.”

Jarin flinched. “Odd, that.” He glanced down at the child and smiled. “I believe she’s fallen back to sleep.”

Cristiana smiled. “She trusts you.”

Jarin swallowed as if overcome by the thought, but then gently handed Thebe back to Cristiana.

Sorrow swept over Cristiana as she lowered the girl back onto the bed and drew the covers about her. “She’s been through so much.”

“As have you.”

The kindness in his voice turned her to face him yet again. He sat on the bed just inches from her, his eyes searching hers. She missed the feel of his arms around her, the only place she’d ever felt truly safe. Yet mayhap ’twas a false sense of safety, for Sir Jarin was a mere human with human failings.

Yet the way he’d protected them, the way he gazed at her now made her wonder if he weren’t some mighty angel sent to watch over her.

He ran the back of his fingers over her cheek, tenderly, lovingly. “Did he harm you?”

She lowered her chin, embarrassed. “Nay. Merely terrified me.” She looked up. “How can I ever thank you?”

A shiver ran through her. He must have noticed, for he drew her back into his arms, and she wished more than life itself that this man would love her…and love her forever.

Leaning her head on his powerful chest, she prayed the man’s courage and strength would leech onto her, make her independent, in need of no one. Like him. Then no one would ever abandon her again. Alas, she was naught but a weak coward, so unlike her sister, the mighty warrior.

Against her better judgment, she glanced up at him, his trimmed beard tickling her forehead. He smelled of sweat, spice, and Jarin. And God help her, she wanted more of him.

He gently cupped her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers.