Chapter 38

 

A rat scrambled over Jarin’s boot. He kicked it to the stone wall on his left, one of four walls that enclosed him in a prison of his own stupidity. He should have seen those soldiers coming, should have been paying closer attention. But he’d allowed his thoughts and his focus to stay upon Lady Cristiana—on their recent confessions of love, their kiss, and the conflict within him to either make her his wife or run as far from her as he could.

Forsooth! Now, he had not only lost her and Thebe, but his freedom, and quite possibly his life. If what the guard told him was true—that he was to be hanged at dawn.

Death, the ultimate loss of freedom. Or was it? Not if his dream had been real.

Rising, he walked the four steps it took to reach the far wall ere he turned and retraced his path. His boots rang hollow over the dirty stones, kicking up the odor of mold, decay, and death to taunt him. He felt for the other wall, lost in the shadows, and moist, scratchy rock met his fingers. Water trickled down a column of stones and formed a small puddle in the corner.

He turned and gazed upward where a small window far above provided a modicum of light that did naught to dispel the gloom of the place. Nor the gloom from his heart.

He’d not slept all night, alternating between pacing and crumbling to a heap. No visitors had come nor any food, and from the dimness of the light now coming through the window, he assumed the day was nearly spent.

One more endless night, and he’d be dead.

Jarin fisted hands at his waist and growled. What was happening to Cristiana and Thebe? Were they safe? Cared for? Or were they to face the same fate as he? Nay, Sir Walter needed Cristiana alive. That gave him hope. But what about Thebe?

“Oh, God, prithee, watch over the child.” His pathetic prayer sounded hollow and empty, bouncing off the walls of the dismal chamber.

Would he ever see them again? Despair threatened to leech all hope from his soul.

“How could you allow this to happen, God? How?” It didn’t seem fair when Jarin had started praying again. When he’d begun to believe God might not be the cruel tyrant he’d always believed.

Pacing to the other wall, he kicked it. Pain shot up his foot into his ankle. Good. It kept him alert, focused, and assured him he was still alive.

Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to all the incredible things he’d seen since he’d found Cristiana. Scenes from a play no one would believe unless they’d been there themselves. The sudden fog that had saved them from the soldiers, lightning that had transformed wolves into dust, the dark spirits he’d seen around Quinn, the angel who had alerted him of the threat to Cristiana, the healings he had witnessed, the curse on the village’s water lifted. He could go on. And what of the lady herself, her love and care for others, even her enemies? In good sooth, how could Jarin deny that God was love when His love shone so brightly through Cristiana?

Nay, he could no longer deny there was a loving God, a God who cared about His children, who loved and healed and protected. He could also not deny that that same God stole his father, mother, and baby sister from his arms. When all they did was serve Him.

Their faces flashed before him, so young and full of joy and living in a place beyond description—a glimpse into an eternity that made this place and their time here of no import at all. ’Twas the last scene in a parade of events that God had used to get Jarin’s attention.

Jarin bowed his head. “You have it, God. You have it.” Alas, now what? For instead of all things working out for good as Cristiana so oft proclaimed, things had ended up much worse than they ever could have expected.

Jarin sank to his knees on the hard stone. “I’m sorry, Almighty God. I’m sorry, Jesus. I wandered away from you, angry and bitter. I thought I could run my own life, be master of my soul—eat, drink, and be merry until my dying day. But You have shown me that this life is nothing compared to eternity. Death is not the end for those who follow You, but merely the beginning of something far beyond compare. When You took my family, I thought ’twas cruel, but I see now ’twas a blessing, a reward, for them.”

A dark shadow grew in one of the corners. Not from the waning light, but something much darker—a blackness that moved and breathed. And fumed. A presence. An evil that sent a shudder through Jarin. And he was not one to shudder. Two dark hands reached for him. Every nerve tightened. His breath seized. Fingers, black and pointed, curled around his neck, icy and sharp.

And he knew without a doubt that if he allowed it, the darkness would devour him.

“Nay! You cannot have me! I belong to Almighty God!” Jarin stood and fisted his hand at the mist ere closing his eyes and continuing his prayer. “And should I enter that eternity soon, I hope, Father, that You will find me worthy to join my family. My only request is that You spare Cristiana and Thebe and keep them safe and loved in this life until You bring them home as well.”

The evil dissipated as if a strong wind had blown it away. Indeed, Jarin felt such a breeze, ripe with the sweet scent of myrrh. Strange. He opened his eyes. The final spire of light drifted over him from the window above.

A man appeared in his cell, glowing like a thousand candles, his hair whiter than pristine snow, his eyes burning flames, and his tunic sparkling like diamonds.

He smiled at Jarin, and in that smile Jarin saw a love he never knew existed.

He got down on one knee and bowed his head. “My Lord and my King, I swear my fealty to You for all eternity.”

When he glanced up, the man was gone, but Jarin knew he would never be the same.

♥♥♥

Cristiana gazed up, mesmerized by the ribbons of maroon and gold fluttering across the morning sky. A breeze twirled one of her curls across her cheek, tickling her skin, and bringing the scent of lavender, rose, and horseflesh to her nose.

Sky? Why was she outside?

The world spun. Someone steadied her with a touch. Nausea gurgled up her throat. She glanced down and pressed a hand over the most lustrous azure silk gown she’d ever seen. Gold filigree trimmed the edges of her bell sleeves along with the slits that opened down her sides.

Blinking, she attempted to focus on her surroundings—the chatter of a crowd standing around her, the familiar shuffle of servants’ feet hurrying to and fro, the neigh of horses and grunt of pigs. A crackling sound brought her gaze to torches lining the front of the chapel. Chapel? The outer bailey of Luxley Castle.

The blurred shape of the bishop in his white tunic, silk-embroidered vestment, a tall red mitre cap on his head, appeared before her, an open book in his hand. Pressure on her arm brought her gaze to her right where Sir Walter stood beside her.

“If you please, Bishop, let us proceed,” he said with impatience.

Wait! Nay! She was marrying Sir Walter? A nightmare. It had to be. She lifted a hand to her head wherein surely a blacksmith hammered an anvil over and over. Pain radiated down her back with each strike.

“I cannot,” she finally muttered out.

“Oh, I assure you, my lady.” Sir Walter smiled her way. “You can.”

The bishop cleared his throat. “Blessings and merry meet, gentle lords and ladies. Their banns having been published, we are here today to join the fair Lady Cristiana D’Clere and the noble Sir Walter LeGode together in matrimony.”

Banns? When had Cristiana agreed to this union?

“Sir Walter, art thou here this day in pledged troth of thy own free will and choice?” the bishop continued, his voice muted and distant, as if from a dream.

“Aye, father,” Sir Walter said.

“Lady Cristiana D’Clere, art thou here this day in pledged troth of thy own free will and choice?”

Nay, nay, nay! Her insides screamed, her voice unable to function due to the bile rising in her throat.

“The lady says aye,” Sir Walter said.

“In as much as this nobleman and fair lady have pledged their troth to be married this day, we call upon heaven to bless this union. Therefore, if anyone can show just cause why they may not be joined together, by God's Law or the Laws of the Realm, let them now speak, or else hereafter keep silent for all time.”

Cristiana’s thoughts spun into a cyclone of misery, angst, and confusion. Surely someone would say something! Wouldn’t they? Mayhap ’twas a nightmare after all.

All have abandoned you.

The voice rang clear through her addled mind. Clear and true. Everyone had abandoned her. Her mother, her father, her sister, Seraphina, and now Sir Jarin. Even Thebe. Where was that dear child?

“God, help me,” she whispered.

“What say you?” The bishop leaned toward her.

“She says to proceed, Your Grace.” Sir Walter glanced over the crowd. “The lady is anxious to consummate the union, no doubt.”

Chuckling ensued.

Attempting to catch her breath, Cristiana’s legs turned to mush, and she reeled, longing to fold to the ground and disappear. Firm hands gripped her and kept her standing.

“Do you Sir Walter LeGode take unto thyself as wife Lady Cristiana D’Clere and pledge unto her before God and these witnesses to be her protector, defender, and sure resort, to honor and sustain her, in sickness and in health, in fair and in foul, with all thy worldly powers, to cherish and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

God, where are you? Have you abandoned me as well? Cristiana felt her thigh for the Spear, but ’twas gone. Without the Spear, the power of God no longer rested on her. Did His love also no longer abide with her? Yet hadn’t He protected her over the past year? Hadn’t He shown His faithfulness and His mercy?

“I will,” Sir Walter answered.

The bishop released a sigh, as if he were bored, ere continuing. “Do you Lady Cristiana D'Clere take unto thyself the nobleman Sir Walter to be thy rightful lord and pledge unto him before God and these witnesses to honor him, to cleave unto him, in sickness and in health, in fair and in foul, be his one true and lasting counselor and solace, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

Think, think, think! If only Cristiana could gather her wits, her thoughts, her strength, she could speak up, deny this hideous farce, and order her knights to toss Sir Walter and the bishop from her castle…her land…her estate!

If only God would heal her as He had done to so many others she had touched.

But without the Spear….

“My lady? What say you?” The bishop’s tone was ice.

Holding a hand to her stomach, Cristiana lifted her chin. “This is what I say. In the name of Jesus the Christ, I am healed!” Though her voice lacked the strength of her words, she jerked her arm from Sir Walter’s grip and closed her eyes.

Laughter rumbled over her from the crowd. Sir Walter growled. The bishop let out a sigh of frustration.

“Clearly, your excellency, the lady calls to Christ for His blessing on the union.”

“Very well,” the bishop said. “Heavenly Father, Creator of all things both in heaven and earth, we humbly ask thee to bless this union…”

But Cristiana wasn’t listening anymore. As if a strong wind blew away all the dust and fog from her head, her mind began to clear. The world settled. As did her breathing, along with her stomach as a wave of strength swept down her body.

She opened her eyes. God had healed her! Even without the Spear. How could that be? She gazed up at the stunning blue sky—as the bishop droned on—and began to laugh. “You love me? You find me worthy of your love and blessing?” She could hardly believe it. All her life, she’d lived cowardly and meek in the shadow of her courageous sister. Everyone had abandoned her as unworthy. But not her Father in heaven. He had always been with her, always loved her, with or without the Spear! She knew that now.

Sir Walter obviously thought she spoke to him, for he leaned toward her, a pleased grin on his face. “You may not be worthy of me, my lady, but I grant you the favor of becoming my wife, withal.”

Nausea brewed in her belly again, but not from any illness.

The bishop cleared his throat. “Shall we proceed?”

Cristiana squared her shoulders and said with the authority of her station. “Nay. We shall not! I would not marry Sir Walter were he the king, himself.”

Gasps and laughter tumbled across the assembled crowd, silenced by one look from Sir Walter.

The bishop scowled.

Sir Walter gripped her arm so tight, she let out a shriek. “’Twas not my intention to resort to this, but you give me no choice, my lady.” His whisper wafted putrid on her neck. Then, turning her slightly, he gave a nod to a knight standing by the front gate. From within the tower, the man yanked a child and held her beside him.

“Thebe!” Cristiana started for her, but Sir Walter’s pinched grip held her back.

“Cristi! Cristi!” Tears streamed down the little girl’s cheeks as she struggled to be free from the knight. The anguish and fear on that precious face nearly caused Cristiana to fold to the ground.

“She’s just a babe, you devilish fiend!”

“Marry me, and she will be safe. If not”—he shrugged— “I will order my knight to run her through with his blade.”